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THE

Gentleman s Magazine

Volume CCXLV.
JULY to DECEMBER 1879

RODESSE £r" DELECTARE /5k\ ,-^w E PLURIBUS UNUM

Edited by SYLVANUS URBAN, Gentleman

lontnm
CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY

1879

, _, \

[7~4r rtfif t>/ ' trans f, if ien is frstrvfj}

166405

• ' •

CONTENTS OF VOL. CCXLV.

io the Sun. By RiciiAiin A. Proctor . ... 699

Amenta, The Pistol in. Hy Albany DB FoNBLANQUE , . . 321

American Storm- warning*. By C. Halford Thompson" . . 597

Australian Capitals, Some. By RSDSFIH .... 47

But-day Memories : a Soliloquy. By Redspin.ser ... 589
Boroughs, Pocket. By The Member for the Chiltern

735

Carol of the Swallow, The. From the Greek. By William M.

II.' 630

■■'■antes. The Drama of. By James Mew 446

Comcdic Franeaisc, The, and Monsieur Zola. Uy FRtDtktCK

Wistn 60

Concerning Protoplasm. By Andrew Wilson, Ph.D. . . 4>7

Day at Loma Loma, A. By G. DE Robeck 363

■ma of Cer vanii By James Mew 446

Etna. By Ri . PROCTOR 73

French Poets, Recent. By CATVLtl MEMOES :

Pw 4/8

- . . 563

tonbury, A Pilgrimage to. Hy EOWASD WalfoRD, M.A. . 6t6
Gray's "Ban1. light on. By GRANT ALLEN . . .721
Her Majesty's Next Ministers. Hy Til I MEMBER FOR THE CHILI BRM

Hundreds 548

Horace, Odes, t. 1 5 : a Translation 378

Ireland, The Wants of. By ARTHUR . . .683

« Edward 111., Note on the Historical Play < -EltNON

Part 1 170

• • 33"

Low .... 363

1 he, and its Work. By SYDNEY C. BUXTON 199
ofLettet Bant, By The Member for the Chiltern

.drew 34

Contents.

Meteor Dost By Richard A. Proctor 182

Minister*, Her Majesty's Next. By The Member M« TBI

Cllll.TF.RN HUNDREDS 548

og links. By Andrew WlLMM, PM>, . . . .298
Napoleon, Prince. By JivriN HuNTLY McCarthy . .138

Nelson, A Pilgrimage to the Birthplace of. By F.dward

WAI.FORD, M.A 471

Note on the Historical Play of King Edward III. By Algernon-
Charles Sw: 170,330

Old Tavern Life, The. By II inky Barton Baker . 741
liament, Men of Letters in. BjrTatBMEHBSB forthp.Chii.temn

vdreds 34

Pilgrimage, A, to the Birthplace of Nelson. By EDWARD

Walkord, M.A 471

Pilgrimage. A, to Glastonbury. By F.DWARD Walford, M.A. . 616

Pistol, The, in America. By Albany df. Fonblanque . . 3:1

Pocket Boroughs. By The Member for the Chilt> rn Hundreds 73s

Prince Napoleon. By Justin Huntiv MCCARTHY . . . 338

Protoplasm, Concerning. By Andrew Wilson, Ph.D. . . 417

Recent French Poels. By Catdlle Mendf.s . . . 478, 563

School-Board, The London, and its Work. By Sydney C. Buxton 199

Senovn and Shipka revisited. By W. Kinnaird ROSR . . 87
Side-light, A, on Gray's " Bard." By Grant Ai i.en . . .7:1

Storm-warning*. American. By C. Halford Thompson . . 507

Strawberries. By W. Collett-Sandars 109

Sun, the, Vtad Air in. By Richard A. PROCTOR .... 699

.Sutherlandshirc, Trout-fishing in. By the Kcv. M. G. Watkins . 436
Swallow, The Carol of the. From the Greek. By William II.

Hakdimoc 630

Tavern Life, The Old. By Hi nry Barton Baker . . .741

Tobacco-smoking. By Frederick H. Daly, M.I). . . . 350

Trout -fishing in Sulhcrlandihire. By the Kcv. If, G. WATKINS . 436
Under which Lord ? By K. Lynn Linton :

Chap. XIX. Foot to Foot I

XX. Almost ! 13

xxi. Plucked from the Burning ao

xxii. The New Departure 129

xxiii. The Burning Flax 143

xxrv. And the Smoke thereof 158

xxv. The last Appeal 357

xxvi. To its logical Conclusion 27s

xxvii. Backsliding 287

xxviii. Her Guide and Friend 385

XXIX. The Terrors of Judgment . . . . jO*

XXX. Twixt Hammer and Anvil 4c

vii

l'AI,«

nch Lord? By K. LYNM LiNrosw«//iJi«i/:

Chap. XXXI. The Die cast 5:3

XXXII. The Conquered and the Conqueror . . . 524

xxxiil. The Day of Triumph 534

xxxrv. Quenched 641

xxxv. Ebb and Flow 654

xxxvi. Ring down the Curtain 667

Table Talk. By Svlvanus Urban, Gentleman :
Mr. Dunphie's ■ Sweet Sleep "—The Order of St. Katharine—
Gardeners and their vagaries— Saint Monday— A new method
of murder — Australian wines— The sister of John Keats . .124
Mr. Winter and the English people — A French interpretation of a
letter of Hogarth— " The quality of mercy is not strained"—
The meaning of "Tirneo Danaos"— Some "spiritual com-
munications"— A new motive-power— A London want— A sham
doctor— French bibliographical mistakes— Pierre Charron —

Generalisation* concerning peoples 348

The persistence of vulgar errors— George Eliot and the extent of
human vanity — "1 always carry my own pea" — A railway
across the Andes — Extraordinary translations — Professor Ske.it

on some English derivations 379

My attempt to get to Boulogne — Mr. Swinburne and the New
doperc Society — Rabelais and his remains — The Ks^uand
the Xorth-East Passage— The Tschutschcrs — The Chinese
and their revived national life — Intoxicated French children —
The horror* of steerage passages— Beer-drinking in Cincinnati
—Blushing and blanching, and their causes . . • j'-'S

A book of "Small-talk"— The phylloxera in Modoc— The nam
of wines— An automatic til-tai-to player— Nelson and LaTouche
Trevilie— A new imposture — Unnecessary street noises — The
Isthmus of Corinth and M. dc Lesscps— The Church and Stage

Cuihl 631

The proposed " restoration " of St. Mark's Venice— The destruc-
tion of singing birds- -The carrying of deadly weapons — Dr.
Richardson's " Salutland " — Man a fruj,-ivorous creature — Public

statues v. private busts 75G

ileal Air in the Sun. By Richard A. Proctor .... 699
Wants of Ireland, The. By ARTHUR ARNOLD .... 683
War and its attendant Maladies. By F. R. Grahamb . . .220
Zfiia, Monsieur, and the Comcdic Franchise. By Frederick

ioxe &>

I ILLUSTRATIONS TO " UNDER WHICH LORD?*
Drawn by Arthur Hopkins.
"Let us understand each other, Mr. Lascelles" Frontispiece

"A WORD CAME HISSING OUT WITH THE SPARKS" . to fact page l68

"They were seated side by side on the couch
at the foot of the bed" ....

"you do not know what you are saying"

"We'll have no words among ourselves to-
night"

"Her hands outstretched to her child"

259

397

53°

68i

THE

GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE.

July 1879.

UNDER IVIIICH LORD?

BY E. LYNN LIN ION.
CHAFTHR XIX.

r o t 0 1

Tsind blew keen and die mow fell Gut, but Ril hard, uncon-
scious of all thing* outward and without the sense of personal
discomfort, knew nothing of either as he walked hun-icdly onward.
The pain at his ha 1 all othi . and what the

day was like was as much a matter of indifference to him, writhing
under his intolerable anguish, as it is a matter of indifference W the
tortured wretch at the stake whether it H in the gloom of the night,
or under the glory of the noonday sun, that his limbs are racked and
his flesh burned— as it is to the dying whether it is in the morning or
the evening when the eternal farewell is given. He knew only these
two tii Ii in fact were one : — that his life as it had been -that

e and love and honour — had come suddenly to an end ;
and that his wife and child had withdn nelvcs from bin) al

the instance of a KntBget in whom they believed more than
believed in him. He confessed bitterly that hi] uiemy had
Stronger Uun he, and had carried the citadel of that dear wife's
that 1 ' ::e, which until now he had held as his own,

gnabfe against U>e whole world.

d now, what could 1 1 do? — poorcrownless king whom

love had once anon whose dominion fas ad false

hood had taken from him ' Wlut could he do ? — how recover wh
had lost f — keep what he still held ? Not knowing where he wei
how he walked, he ploughed his way mechanically onward; tttiniag
over scheme after scheme of action in his mind, and never sinking
vouecx' 1783. v

The Gentleman's Magazine.

••-..:

•: •

■•■••••

••••

on reasonable possibilities, never coming to satisfaction in
Certainly he could leave the place ; break away from his work ; dele-
gate to an agent his duties ; and make a new life for himself and his
family elsewhere ; but what good would come from that ? Those fatal
ccclcsixMi. .:l nets were spread on all sides ; and wherever he turned
he saw the same deadly infliienc es besetting those who were dearest
to him. l'.ast or west, there stood the priest between him and his
honour, him and his happiness — there rose up the Church, the grim
shadow of which hung like a cloud over his home and shut out the
light of the sky. It was not to be supposed that all this change in
Ilermione and Virginia depended on Mr. Lascelles and Sister Agnes
only ; though they had undoubtedly been the prime movers in the
" conversion " of which they made so much account, and were still
the central points round which the rest revolved. Vet Richard could
not hope that, even if he took them away from Crossholme, these
dear blinded enthusiasts of his would unchristianizc themselves and
go back to their old attitude of toler.-iiinu tnd indifference — tolerant
to his atheism because indifferent to Christianity. To go abroad, say,
and break the chain of continuity here, might be of use so far as
interrupting the special influence of one man went ; but h would BOt
destroy their belief in the creed, nor loosen the grip of the accredited
professors of that creed. Therefore it would not restore the old
order of life.

And again, if he decided to go, and they refused? Influenced by
Mr. I.ascelles, who held her conscience in the hollow of his hand,
Ilermione well might so refuse, both for herself and her daughter;
and how could he compel them !>y main force ? If they resisted quietly,
passively — said they would not — made no arrangements— opposed
simply the resistance of inertia — could he have them carried by
arms to this carriage, that hotel, and treat them as refractor)- prisoners
arc treated by their gaolers?

What indeed could he do ? Should he speak to Mr. tasccMes ?
—defy him ? — forbid him ? — argue with him dispassionately on the
inexpediency, the personal indelicacy of thus interfering in
a man's house ? Should he forget his own pride and dignity, and
stoop to a pitiful pica for compassion ? — a whining prayer, as of a con-
quered slave, suing the strong master for mercy and forbearance ?
Should he place the matter on the ground of elemental right and
wrong ?— -on the sacredness of the marriage tie, the inalienable rights
of the father, the iniquity of filial disobedience, and the danger of
conjugal estrangement? Let him lay out the ground as he would, he
saw no chance of good or profit. The vicar would join his long whit

Jcr "which Lord? 3

bands to y the finger tip; read, lower his thin eyeluh.

pal then in ins smooth, artificial voice

would say. with the corrccti ition, that . painful duty

auic the unfaithful sorrow ; as 3 testifying minister of the Word
he must draw 1 which his Divine Master, the Prim e of 1'eace,

had brought into the world, and use it against those ungodly ones for

ise chastisement it had been sent end sharpened It was his

pastoral obligation, jxsrt of his or ivc from perdition

; ; soul* which agnosticism and modern si iencc were doing

r best to destroy. He was in his right as a priest and within
the law as a citucn ; and remonstrance would be as vain as prayer,
as i Ic would look up at him, his thin lips curled

meant a sneer ; he would say that he pitied a man
who SUM h a disagreeable position, and would gladly help him

out of it if he could— as he could; hut by one way only. Tailing
that one way he could do nothing : 1 'hard, had not an inch

uf ground whereon to stand against him. In his right as a priest
and within the law as a citizen, where was the place, and where the
(both

ard knew . and all this made his ai lion one

of supreme di odd was so narrow, bis hand so weakened,

1 securely entrenched! But thing* could not

go 1 make I l" Stop

mined — if submit he most H<- fell the
shame.' osition in thus contending with any

nun what* t, for whal constituted the vital

session of the women uf his house. He, the husband and lather,
to contend, if by no means more tangible than argument, discus
anger, opposition of will -Mill to contend for the preservation of Ins
wife's |i nt of his daughter's obedience ! It was

sh.' Philosophy was swept away in the

great flow of his despairing wrath, as an Alpine storm might sweep
away a sum 1 . utiful to the eye and pleasant to inhabit

when no tempestuous whirlwinds were about to show of what B
material it was n lesofindivi tits —

of the lil according to his or her

desires — of the sacrcdness of the conscience — of the equality of won
—all went lo the ground before the hidcousness of this preset i<
budimc: :ition, fanaticism, denial

erf rut ;i ncution of natural affections. If absolute and

brutal force coul< . k those dear ones into the way of

truth and reason, as he held both, he would liave used it: as he'would

«a

4 The Gentleman's Magazine.

have prevented a madman from committing suicide by binding his
arms with cords ; or have stopped — if need be, harshly — a chQd
running heedlessly on the edge of a precipice. Good as lie knew
thera to be, but credulous and weak as they had proved them
according to his estimate of things, his authority would have seemed
to himself only the rightful exercise of his natural function, and what
his place of guardian demanded.

But he could do nothing. While he was sleeping in security,
trusting to the loyalty of the beloved as they might have trusted to
his, they had suffered themselves to be led away, and had delivered
him bound into the hands of his enemy. He was not angry with
them, nor had his heart revolted against them for anything they had
done. It was this Stxanger, this priest, who had invaded his home
and brought him to shame as well as to sorrow, with whom he was
offended and by whom he had been outraged. If he could litre
killed him, as any other reptile may lawfully be killed, he would :
but he was powerless. His hands were tied, and the iniquity which
he could neither punish nor prevent must go on as it would. The
world still consecrates some forms of tyranny and injustice — still
demands that his victims shall salute the imperial Caesar ; and this
clerical executioner, this Christian Cain and worse than murderer, must
live on to wreck more homes destroy more lives, break the hearts of
men and sap the essential virtue of women ; and no law could touch
him. no hand must strike him I

Walking on, deaf and blind to all externa] life, following the road
by instinct rather than dear knowledge of where he was, his eyes 6xcd
on the white way before him hut not seeing where it led, he was
brought up half -daxed by the door of tin Vii.'irage — the door fronting
the little narrow path off the main street of the village, which he
had unconsciously taken. It was U if I " Spirit in his feet" had led
him there unawares ; if not against his will, petn ithout his knowledge,
his concurrence. Void Of superstition as he was, he ret accepted this
act of unconscious c : ii had been intentional and [>artof

h:. [ Ian; and, without hesitating or staying to reflect, he rang the
door-l>.il 1 I erhaps, after all, this was the best thing to do!

Humiliating as it was to him — perhaps, all the same, it was the best!

" I have come to see you, under protest," said Richard, as he was
ushered into the study, where he found Mr. I .ascetics sitting before
the fire reading the day's OOWCpapeE

If plain and simply furnished, according to the law of elegant
asceticism under which the vicar lived, the room wa - tfaim, home-like,
sufficing ; and the handsome priest himself, comfortably seated before

Under which Lord? 5

the bbxing fire, was as well-ordered, as serene, and as elegantly M<
as his room. How unlike tlut pale and haggard man, miserable,
Kali ho staggered in from -• wind

snow, like MOM lone wreck drifted upon placid shot-

I rose as Ik- came ii irprise with an

1 much as a kind of catcbinj
: the triumph which, for some time foreseen, had now

:m glad i' I with perfect breeding and com-

posure , ' I QUI his hand. Ha 1 lie done so, Ki< hard

■

"i Is to you," then said Richard slowly.

itoth men were standing — Mr. Lasccllcs near the fire, Mr.
FulJerton near the table.

Mih pleasure," ^>d the ::dly. "'lake a chair."

..i.id Richard shortly. " I prel

ease" returned Mr- Laseelles, seating himself; while

before his gratified ey* ■ of n rmione's (air,

. upturned face. k bad looked

. .iv in the school-room this morning; and bad eon*

bet husband as she used. And now

tha: . come ; and whethi o or

remonstrate, to oppose or to rebuke, it was equally a triumph and

tory.

Bit interfering in my house, Mr. I ISO Lli <-, in a manner

which no man of honour or Bclf-respecl could bear," began Rii hard,

with a slow heavy emphasis.

im doing what I can," returned Mr, Lascellet vith a certain
W-ii • • as one deprecating prai yd he la

be deserved.
" 1 tou-.g what you can todctach my wife an r from me? —

1. their love and to destroy my authority ? "
■

ie merit, such as it is, of frankness that is

ii 1 am like yourself," returned the vicar with his 1 ourtly

" I-ct us understand each other, Mr. lasccllcs."

The vicar ctovsed his lc:s, joined his bands together by their
finger ti| iut on a gravely attentive look. Objectionable— a

Mrongrr wot> ' truer epithet according to Mr. Lascelles —

devilish, abominable, say— on all accounts as this agno ami

6 The Gentleman's Magazine.

hopeless as was his errand let the substance of it be what it might,
he should yet learn for himself the inexhaustible riches of Christian
courtesy, and how the saved can afford to be gracious even to castaways.

'• i have only just now leant the vrhich you have

induced my wife and daughter to adopt," Richard went on to say;
"the daily public services, the weekly communion taken fa
the degrading offices which you have imposed 00 them Or at least
on my child — and the dishonouring, shameful, destructive h.iint ■!
confession. These are things which I am in no mood to tolerate. They
must be stopped ; and I forbid all further tampering with those for
whose conduct I am responsible and wh touch my

character and honour as much as their own."

" You cannot forbid my using my official influence over Mrs. and
Miss Fullerton; nor can you prevent their yielding to it," said Mr.
-lies suavely.

■ 1 m mutei in mj own house," said Richard.

I tu vicar smiled. He looked first at his white, well-washed
hands ; examined his nails, and rubbed back the band of his fourth
finger ; then he railed his eyes suddenly and fixed them on Mr.
Fullerton's fare —

".\,i," he (aid d< f, "you are not matter in your own

house, Mr. Fullerton, for the simple reason that you have no house in
which to be master."'

■• Arc you mad ! " cried Richard, making a step forward,

" Not that I am aware of ; I am simply within the limits of the
case," returned the vicar in a quiet but half-mocking voice. " Is it
necessary for me to remind you, Mr. Fullerton. that you have no legal
status here in Crossholmc? — not an inch of ground that you can call
your own? — and no legal authority over your wife and daughter?
Try it I " he continued, raising his voice and hand to cheek
Richard as he was about to speak. " Try it ! and so prove my case
and ruin your own. If you attempt to interfere with your daughter
in the exercise of her religious duties, her mother — guided by my
advice— will carry ha complaint into court, and you will be deprived
of all authority whatever. The Shelley judgment stands unrescinded ;
and on that you will be r.ist. Ity the law you, an atheist, who can
be convicted of open blasphemy, and who would not— and so far
I honour you— deny in public what you hold in private, or profess
ru do not believe even to gain possession of your child yon.
mi and infidel, have no voice in the moral on of your

daughter ; as you have no claim on your wife's property beyond
such bare maintenance as should prevent your becoming chargeable

Um ch Lor 7

lothc parish. It may be painful to you to hear these truth- : bul they
arc truths; nnc! the deeper you take them to heart the less lil.

« to fall into difficulty on your own account, or to cause us embar-
rassment action in self-defence. Turn which
way no foothold, no case. You have placed yon
self out of the pa! of the Christian communion, but out of
the broader protection a Your wife has the reins, if A
lus so far all-: to hold them; even your daughte: Ived
from her natural duty of obedience; and no one i to bfaune fol Either
dilemma but yourself And now let me end with one word of counsel
— on your own behalf more than on ours." — It pleased Mr. Lascelles,
:rong as ! n of this ostenta-
' at ion of himself with Hcrmionc and Virginia,
he face of the tortured man before him. "Yield without i
to the new order ol you will begen ted
and suffered to efface yourself wil -lit. and you will
be worsted. Wc have not only Divii Ikinent
and the ' I warn you that the power whii b

wc possess wc will use if >-i it necessary. Fairness demands

that I should tell you ids no more than this."

ntroUed, i , philosophic — these were un-

doubtedly Richard Fiillerton's prominent characteristics. He had
educated himself in the exercise of all these qualities) and love and
tranquillity had been his teachers. Hut those who could have read
his heart al that moment would not have found much mildness

patience in it now. Nothing but the long-rooted

trol, and the self-respect of a gentleman, kept bin
from t> lolent, smooth-voiced priest by the throat and

is he *at there, rolling out the terms of

il defeat like a delicate morsel d csscd — a

catalogue of insult pronouns notes — a litany of

r damnation striking at all hope, and set to a grandly framed harmo-
nious chan' ood there, struggling with h a and his
. half wondering why he might not kill that man as he would
ig, or a lurking savage fitting
his arrow to the bow. In looking back over this moment, it was ever
* myit' n th3t be had con<;\: natural instinct so far as
10 let that lh nt live. Silent, his broad chest heaving,
ds clenched, his mouth compressed till the full, kind lips were
icd into a bloodless line, his eyes on the ground, the lids
uscular contraction by which he restrained him-
self ha. I ! even them, he stood there, the moral athlete wtcsxfonfc

The Genlkmaris Magazine.

will* the wild I rage and despair — with:!. natural sense

of dishonour and instinctive desire of revenge. Mr. I.ascelles, his
100 hilt i losed, Batched him in this conflict, halfwnndering how
it would end. Ril hud was a powerful man physically, and might
easily lie dangerous ; and anguish has an ugly trick of making gentle-
men forget their breeding, and letting loose the passion:; which it is

their duty to control.

At last Richard conquered himself sufficiently to be able to speak.

•' \ OUT platform is well defined," he said in a ronstraincd voice.
" You do not hesitate in your terms."

" I knew that you would prefer candour," returned the vicar with
:t half-complimentary air. " Between men of the world the truth is
always the best, and the shortest way the wisest.

'• Perh&pf you have left out one factor m tin- Mini,'' said Richard,
•till in the urns constrained manner, as if forcing himself by an effort
to be calm.

•• Yes :- W hicfa r "

" The affection of a loving woman, which will recoil from aiding
in her husband's discomfiture.

Mr I smiled. Again the image of that flushed, half-tearful

"penitent" of his, confessing to her own shame and his triumph,
came vividly before him ; and he shook his head with undisguised
satisfaction, it ilao with affected pity for the man whom he had
overcome.

" In the days of her darkness, and before she had been called, yes,
you might hai ed in her acquiescence in your manner of life

and in her refusal to join in any scheme of action which should dis-
c i meat you ; but now she is converted and gives her highest duty to
Cod.'' He said this with clean and clear precision. He knew so
much al>out Hcrmione Fulkrtcni'r. mil, lie could enlighten even her

and who had once known all and now understood nothing.

"God ! To your demon, you mean— to Moloch I "said Richard
with a hitter laugh.

will not help you,'" said Mr. Lascelles quietly. "Call
Him by what name urn -..ill, He is now her M iStt r whose will she
. . , expressed by the Voice of the Church."

" The Voice which teaches falsehood and superstition, enmity and

jKion, which is more cniel and no truer thin that of I >elphi and
Cumac ! " said Richard.

"Which teaches truth and righteousness," returned the vicar;
" and which, I am grateful to be able to say, your wife and daughter
have heard— and obeyed."

Under Lord .' 9

"And this is the work in which you rejoice ! The ruin of one of
the purest I [land, jroni boast ; the destruction of one of

the happiest ho DOW!"

" So speaks the unrcgi 1 that]

mse for great than;. 1 1 ht\ D made the

chosen means ', ■ lor all

:y until my adveffl IPOkc With the air of a

man mode- • :uc "And for the p 1.

he continued — and his man n it ma . ntd fironhil words — " I

can ki' iat your wile, my precious penitent, had Dot 1 virtue

in the past i have not fostered by the dUdplin, ,,1 ,|„.

Church ani 1 by confession — not a grace which is not

(enfold by religion. She has put on the beauty of holi-
and by so doing every n ihina with

redoubled brig: Between my Creadon and yours there is not

more admirable."
Mr. lasccllcs said this he got up and rang the bell. A certain
sudden glare in Richard's eyes .1 certain sudden movement — a
litUe daunted him ; and the presence of a third person, if only a
111 be valuable.
•' Wine," he said, as the girl entered suddenly.
The coming of Mr. Kullcrton had excited the Vicarage household ;
and ii :.l ears that wish to be

med, of what use art they?

'• You will take a gla« of wine, Mr. Fullerton 'It I lay,"

he added with the nicest accent of sympathetic hospitality.

■•1 away and stood for a Ii w moni tits iptul ; then
fact" ace more.

,;ood in vulgar raving," he said slowl) l under-

without need of more words. You have played your game

clever: 1 far you have won. Craft and deceit generally do

win against blind trust ; and my trust was blind. For the rest I may

ac of those points on which you have c . and strengthen

my hat 1st you by the aid of the law where I 1

11 'heertull;, . "and you will find that

true. You have no law on your side. You arc

an at:; lish conscience repudiates you. You have

I, like a felon — and you are a spiritual

11c has deprived you of your natural rights. Ah !

the sherry. Let me offer you some. It is dry, and the day

*1 I is such a man possible?" said Richard, half to lunudt.

The Gentleniaiis Magazine.

. inrtn is :i mi stcr of Christ— this man who almost

makes me believe the devil possible!"

Mr !..,, 'i: : an

" I should have fulfilled my duty had
he said. "It ,ou a rou;

mity. To liken him to the <l<
was by unblessed hands, that hurt i

than those mi

they fell. It was part of that hy^ .'•martyrdom" whkl

popular dominators of souls, ".'.ed inquisitors of

are so fond of tey undergo ; glorii

tn thai they arc accounted worthy to suflcr I a oil the

time it is they who burn and they who rack, they v.
and consign to eternal perdition hereafter.

" Better hell irith tl and good with whom I have cast

lot, than I yoo I" said Richard with a |

of repulsion.

•' All right," said Mr. I-ascelles; " u is well to be content with th
bed which one makes for oneself. Really, you had better let me
give you a gkas of wine ! It will kcq> out the I

Richard did not speak, but turned .om ;

and in the same state red -blind and

daze::. iily knowing where he was noi he was going —

he passed through the hall, and once more set out into the erne
and driving snow of this bitter biting wmtei

The interview had advanced not
thought, as he walk'. utbs had

some bitter words been spoken, but i rooted as

before:— lb lighter had been

taken from if he could not recover th inld no*

n e their obedient .ade, in the one case

the wife, in the other the Chu husband and father.

Should Hcrmione so choose. -is powerless in his de

with her, through the terms of the will re her the sole

pos.v. natural autliorily o\er Virginia was

Vets of 1'. and decrees of judges which

demand that evi i >me fonn of rel

uns, or In
— Acts of Parliament and deuces of
. thought Richard bitterly, which declare that I
good': all count for d

over !'*n of

Under which Lord?

a book ihc universe about six thousand years old,

places the earth in th.- 1 entre of the system. V :>, Mr. Loocdli
■1'inger in this struggle for m. two dea:

He rccog: now, sorrowfully enough, but clearly. The law

wa» 00 so was that large majority — those weak

souls which must cling to something tangible and external i

i stand upright at all ;—'* While I," he said Joud, 'have only

■ n strength and the goodness of i in the fight that I

against superstition and credulity — in my endeavour to

iind faith in legends which no man can prove and no

ingen r ionise with known conditions, the BMdy of facts and

reverence for law."

But again — what could he do? Were he even disposed to

command, he had no power to en «i futmm only

makes a man i And of what use b argument

1 blind faith in favour of rca dd to

be a unarc spread by the DfH One, same blind

accepted a* safe guidance

b to old afla : the Instinctive love, the holy

harm- e family— these too would go to the mil before the

f sorrowful assertion that mar ic glory of I

and th <r to serve the Saviour. ■• 10 bring sal*

i the world by father and the

gainst the husband, than to attend even to the Tea Command-

represented the Word of God without appeal or

comri met, baffled, defeated; and he felt

like one round whom the iron cage is fast drawing in, leaving him

ipe nor means

It l ears had passed over him since this morning, when

he came home just as the short twilight was darkening into evening.

He never knew where he had been, nor hou liked. Had

he Ik i he would have said that he had stood still Ibi all these

hours, »c. 'f means of escape from a grievous spiritual

none. But he knew that he must have v.
E»r an by the wind and snow in some

ien he reached his home,
and M>aki' ;h to the ikin. So Ear physical exhaustion had

befriended him in) back to the consciousness of mi

IgS.

s long absence on this fearful day liad frightened both
Hem , so that the ice of their late Cfltrangi

broke up under the pressure of their anxiety, and they WW otvVj

12 The Gentleman s Magazine.

;cr to welcome back to his home the husband and the father
vhom their fanaticism had driven abroad. As time passed on and
their fears deepened, they forgot all causes of displeasure which they
had 3gainst this sinner, once so dear to both, to remember only that
they loved him, that he was worthy of their love— mercy being
infinite and the natural man a lineal descendant of Adam ! — and
that perhaps he was in danger, with no one to help him : — and they
the cause of his peril.

i a an n EC

ALMOST !

Mm in it .mil daughter had stood by the drawing-room window
watching drearily, anxiously, Cot more than an hour before the small side

gate Opened, and the weary master who was not owner passed through
like one walking in a dream, and instinctively look the short wood-
wnlk across the upper end of the park. Hermione's dark blue eyes
Were full of tears which every now and then fell silently on her
hands, which she had clasped together against the framework cf
the window, as a rest for her pretty golden, self-accusing head.
And Virginia's eyes too were full of tears ; but she had com-
forted herself by snatches of fervent, silent prayer; and Hermione
had not.

It had been a day of checkered emotions for the pretty woman
whom nature had made for love and submission, and whom the
Chimh was ft i transforming out of all likeness to her original self —

I or rath r, was fatal rrmg to another direction. At first she bad

crowfuDy proud, mournfully elate, at the constancy with v.
she ha . her testimony, and tin. fidelity of her ObedteOCe to

Mr. Laaodlea. It had been hard at the moment, but when done it
was well done ; and when she Di dear Superior she would have

a clean page to offer, which he would sign, smiling, with his
approval. She was a little disturbed when she saw Richard dash out
so heedlessly into the snow and wind ; and the thought that he was
probably bound for the Vicarage, where he would see Mr. I
and cither insult him by his unblushing athei-un, or quarrel with him
in some yet more terrible and ungodly fashion. This thought tor
mented her for a long while, now inclining her to anger for her
husband and corresponding sympathy for the vicar ; now softening
her to the former for fear of the hard things which the latter might say,

ir-

;

Under which Lord?

»3

tod the telling blows that he might give. Hut ax the day wore on and
Rkhard did not return— when the luncheon had been OnBMI
kept back, eaten, and finally dismissed, and yet he did not appear —
then her thought* became concentrated in one great sentiment of
fear, and her imagination ran riot over all the po of tragedy

that it could crate. Time pasted ;. and she grew sorry. setf-censuring,
penitent, humble. If only he would return Dttld be so glad

to see him— so gbd ! SO relieved ! As ea< ive hour struck,

her load of guilt grew heavier, her apprehensions more unendurable.
I she could bear it DO longer. She had become restless and
h, pacing from room to room and wandc: about

the house ; but this fere* of unrest passed into the stony watching
of extreme d by the window, her eyes strained

on the gravel in Up Whii h he must come, should he

ever come back at all.

:nc, rounding that clump of l.uirel* in the centre of
the di farthest point that could be seen in the

through the dri w. I tow di *

and how weary he looked ! His head bent And his step uncertain,
.rough the veil of the dusk and under the dimming
shower of drivu 1 as ii be bad 1 ghost of himself

tl, Yet it was he, trurj : and

ran from the window through the room and into
the lu ib

"Richard: At "—trying out hurriedly to her

daughter — "Quick. . meet deal

ipenedtht under theporti

•.ow blowing over her and Decking her <larkl.hu- dress with
momentary flakes of silver, while the wind eddied round the hall and

^ht drifts that soon made featherji heaps In .ill the B
She ni lot cared how things went. She thought only of

d of her youth, the friend of her maturity — was con-
scious only of Her joy in his ret he sweet, lond. self-forgetting
wife had < ft oi b spiritual seducer,
masked a;. . cared,

:chard, n ' how wet and tired you look I how cold

and miserable I You look lull' dead I I lading, come in and rest. Why,

II this dreadful day ?— and I so wretched,

spoke with the incoherence of fear and tenderness combined,
going impulsively to as he came wearily up the steps of the

portico. She laid her hand on his ami, and seemed to lead him into

14 The Gentleman's Magazine.

the hall, where slur took lx>th In | n hers and chafed them

tenderly.

" My poor half-frozen darling I " she said, looking up
face with her big blue eyes, soft and dark and humid ; while Vu
said— she too with all her old sweetness : —

" Let me help you with your coat, dearest papa. It is wet
through— do let me take it o<:

Ward stood and looked from one lo the other like a man
rudely awakened from an opium dream — not seeing, not undcrstand-

■norant which was the truth — the dream or this. Was be
now, or had he been mad ? Was all thai offered the self- n

anxiety of a disordered brain ? — 01 wai this hallucination and the
feverish fancy of a despair so si' k that ii had taken on itself the very
i ry of hope ami happiness? — as men dying of hunger in the
desert see themselves set in gardens ami fair places where they re
happiness and delight He passed his hand in ■ bewildered ••• \
his forehead, looked round ..ucly, and turned to them wil

much . then he sighed heavily and •■

; and these and daugl

— the creatures whom he ig — whose

soft touch he felt, into whose sweet eyes lie looked, whose caressing
voices he heard. Had bj < en with that f i man who

had boasted of his victory over these dear one*, and dl iforts

to bring them back to their duty of love— i tin to

his influence? Had they really spoken to him to-d.iv iught

he remembered that they had ? Had his daughter pronounced him
accursed? Had Hcrmione taken herself from him? end were
lives to be henceforth based on a different plan and principle from
what had been formerly ?

Uncertain, and shocked at his own entanglement of thoi
whose perceptions were always so clear and whose mind was co firm
— he stood there for a while silent, hut trembling visibly, and almost
breathless as the dumb trouble of his suspense passed into the slurp
pain of reaction — the pleasure which makes pain.

" Wife ! my little Lad\ in a broken voice,

lg each to him lovingly, and kissing each as he widen

times.

Virginia's tears fell on his pale cold face as she met his will

t almost as pale, aim I; but rlenni vith

her old swi aim once more her beloved— an-

own.
Suddenly : " He is your destroyer— his love for you is your soul's

Under which Lord0 15

OOUr — yours for hint a crime against God," rang in her cars, as
I had been there and was repeating this morning's
denunciations, as well as command ; and " I promise to obey you "
was the echo of her own voice sent by her wavering soul through her
memory. Yes; this morning she had promised to withdraw hi
body and soul, heart am! I -.o let the Church divorce what the

law had joined and love had hallowed ; and now, not twelve hours
after '-he was standing with her arms round the husband

whose expulsion had been decreed, her lips giving back the tender
touch of his. For an instant she shrank within herself and recoiled ;
then she drew him closer to her heart, saying to hezaeJf: " He is
id I am his wife, and none shall come between us."
Still trembling — for indeed the reaction had been almost too strong
he was afraid to speak lest some new discord
should break in upon this dis bust harmony — bewildered, but con-
• of rest and sweetest peace, '.vent slow];- up the stain

— h; ith him. With hei own hands she drew the easy chair

before the fire in his dressi 111, and performed all sorts of plea-

sant caressing li'.tlc offices about him before his man was summoned.
He smiled and let her do what she would To have her thus about
him rested and refreshed iiim more than sleep 'or food «i mid have
dooc. When she left him finally, promi 1 in halt 'an hour,

be was calm, peaceful, soothed, and she herself was happier than she
had been 1 that fatal dinner. After all, he was her husband]

fine and noble, tender, just and true ; and it was good to love him !

A 11. -a: m |»ut intohei hand as site went into her own mom. It
was from Mr. Lascelles, and contained His photograph taken in the
"saci orne part was Iter own work, accom-

panied by a beautifully bound nuu aaodwrifc

ace to the will of th< priest representing
God — and the awful authority given to him by confession and sbso
Ion.

Whether he had foreseen any strain of this present kind 00 the
return ol whose passage back through the village had been

noti' . and so took the 1 1 within bis

powc pity and .1

wife's only hah an tell? He had a faculty

of prevision wl tl have

been one of those occasion? knowledge of men and women

made him prophetic With the photograph to remind and the
manuscript to recall, he thought that he had <>n the

rudder, and Uut he need not fear the result of what he knew would

TIu Gentleman 's Afngazine.

be close sailing for the moment. Richard was the old, with the ami-
mulatcd force of habit to back him; but he was the new. with flu-
keys of heaven and hell in his hand. As Jove held the thunderbolts,
so had he the power of excommunication from the Church, and
consequent banishment from God ; and should the pretty woman
who was born to obey seek to rebel, she would have to lean th.it
lovers can become executioners at need, and that a gentleman May
court but a priest must compel.

If these pits were potent as reminders, so was the letter that
accompanied them, going straight as it did to the heart of the situa-
tion. It recalled to Hcrmione the exact terms of the sacred promise
which she had made to him the writer, her priest, her director, only
so long ago as this morning ; and bound it on her conscience to fulfil
to the letter all the conditions which he had imposed. Those ran-
ditionr. were hard, and the words in which they were set forth were
Strong and rasping, but he clamped all together by the divine authority
of which he was the interpreter — the executant— and defied a child
of Holy Mother Church to disobey the supreme command. He
seemed to have had magical insight into her pour, weak, troubled
SOul; and he Came on the scene of this probability of reconciliation
like the spectre which stands by the altar and with its fleshiest hand
forbids the marriage. He had foreseen all this In -.nation, this

traveling, this tuning back like Lot's wife to the home that she had

abandoned, to the life which habit and love had endeared. But the
hand which held knew also how to keep ; and Mr. Loscelles WkS D01
the man to be discouraged by the feeble struggles of the victim
i he had captured, and now was binding fast to the homj <t the
altar. He knew that until finally stilled the pendulum must beat, but
its swing is ever shorter ; as the ebbing tide has waves which appeal
to advance, but the tide ever ebbs and the .! iore is left dry,

strewn with dead things and the wrack of what was once man's finest
work. On pain of her eternal perdition, Hermione was commanded
to continue Steadfastly in holy opposition to this man of sin whom
God had forsaken, and to withdraw herself finally from his hateful
influence. Her love for him, she was told, was a sin against Ik
and to be in friendship with her husband was to be at enmity with God.

It was as if a voice from the Ark had spoken, calling back one
wandering from the worship of Jehovah to the idolatrous temples of
the groves — a voice which she dared not refuse to hear, a comma
which she dared not refuse to obey !

When she went back to her husband, she went back change
She was gentle and sorrowful enough, but as if she had shrunk again

and

ted.

jam

Under which Lord? ty

herself ; and if nol cold nor repelling, yet she MS no longer
or expansive. Again, the moral blight which already
had destroyed so much had fallen on ha ; as subtle and as
irresaiiWe as the b'.i ihe corn-

aein*. In her fear for his safety, and net unregt an II -reproach

for the pain . had given him, she had forgotten .hat Richard

was an athel*!. and had remembered only that he was her husband
whom she had once adored and still loved, and — despite herself —
respected. Now she had to remember rather that be was excommu-
nicate; and that the only tie between them was his name which she
bare, and the past which she could nut undo if she did her best to
fargd

Ijtd held out his hand to her as she came in. He was sitting

drown bock in the easy chair as she had placed it, weary in body but

with the patient calmness of mind, the nreet trustfulness, the happy

acntkizing love which were essentially his. He had accepted all

dot had come lo him in this last hour as a full and complete rccon-

rifiation. He had his wife again, and their new life would date from

today. They would talk together, heart open, as in olden limes, and

consult one with the other how best to live in harmony and affection,

trm if it should still be that their spheres of thought were different

and their objects of belief opposed. But at least they had come

again, and no man stood between then..

He smiled and turned his head towards her as she came through

doorway— not that of communication with her room, but that

gave on to the corridor.
'Wife ! dear wife '. How good it is to sec you !" he said in a low

caressingly.
The colour had gone out of her face, and she looked as pale
nrler the lamplight as if she had been Virginia herself.

.»ni glad you arc safe at home. I was frightened about you,"
the «;d in a constrained manner.

"I do not like to have frightened you, sweet wife, but I love to
bear that you were anxious,11 he answered, still smiling.

"I hope that you have not made yourself ill ; you looked so tired
when yoa came in, and were so cold and wet," she said in an odd
jetty way; not looking at him; pretending to arrange the ami-
■aassar with her disengaged hand. He held the other in both
of bis.

" It is all right now. I have your dear hand in mine," he said,

the soft pink fingi
She turned away in desperate trouble. It seemed so cruel to
nucctir. mo. 17*3- c

The Gentleman's Magazine.

hurt him afresh. But her vow — Superior's letter— that manuscript of
holy counsel — the divine guidance under which she lived — the com-
mands which must be obeyed, let what human considerations there
would oppose : — she dared not take her husband back to her heart,
nor give herself to his as in the past. She dared not disobey the
priest whom she had chosen u her spiritual guide in preference to
this atheist, if once her I cloved. It tore her own heart to part from
him as mud) in this moment as it would tear his to lose her ; but
the command was greater than the pain; and though that pain
should even kill, that command must still be carried out. The thing
which somewhat comforted her at this moment was the knowledge
th.i :.!i ..- hem If MilTcrcd as much as she made her husband snfi
Hitherto she had yielded to the new law without much difficulty. It
had even given her more than she lost, and she had often been more
revolted by the atheist's infidelity than sympathetic with the hus-
band's pain. Now she joined hands with him in sorrow, and re-
gretted— how sincerely ! — that she could not be at one and the same
time a faithful daughter of the Church and a loyal and devoted wife.

After a time she turned her face to him again, and looked at him
softly, but not caressingly as she had done.

" 1 love you as much as t ever did," she said in a low voice,
bettering her own word*, while her tears began to flow; " but nothing
has changed since this morning. You are an atheist, I am a Christian;
and until you have made your peace with God I can be nothing to
you. Our thought-, .md ways are separate, and so must be our

He raised himself in hit I Bad looked at her fixedly, then
c'-osed his eyes while his head sank forward on hi. breast -She

;;ht he had fainted, and bent over him, bre
twitching of his mouth, the quiver i look of

anguish that was more sorrowful than tears, more grievous than a
cry, showed her that here was no relief of insensibility. He

was suffering as few men could have suffered without failing ur.
the strain ; but he had been made strong enough by that short

lie from torture to bear the rack again without giving way. Yet
it .us hard to have the hope, the assurance, only to be dashed
in to the earth at the very moment when he thought himself most
secure. Still, there it was; and his hope had been i faliacy. Her
will i motion by that other stronger, more determined, still

always her will — decreed that they should be divided, and he cotdd not
help himself. And then, beside his inability, there came to his aid
the man's self-respecting dignity which is even greater than the K

Under whUh Lord?

love, and which forbade him to continue what was essentially a (rail
less rivalry with anotbei ievotion.

"Things dull be as you will, wife," he said at kit
voice, when; were no suppressed tears, but only the very stillness of
submission to the inevitable, the very pathos of patience. " Some day
you will come back to me of y I will. Until then I will

respect yours— an. :

The extreme mciatjon touched Hermione more

than || I broken out into passionate despair. It was so like

death! She seemed to realise in that moment all that she had
voluntarily lost— all that she had killed with her own hands ; sad

ng on her knees by his side, she buried her face in the I
the chair and wept in 3 forlorn and helpless way that, more (has
anything else could have done, expressed all the weakness of her
nature.

He laid his hand tenderly on her head. No longer soft and
feathery with its multitudinous curls, but smooth and plainly braided,
it was to him like the head of some one else — not his wife, his
beloved. He missed the elastic touch of tho.se light rings and fringes
which he had so often caressed, and in which he took so 11'w.ii
pleasure of admiration ; and he thought, as 01 mi unimportant

in grave moments : " Even I changed with the rest.''

could say nothing to comfort her — nothing to persuade her.
All this misery was self-made, and as unnecessary as it was absolute.
She alone could break the magic of the barrier that had been raised
bctwi 11 -._ ntcd to and half assisted

in the weaving of the spell. He stooped ovct her and drew her face
gently up g her forehead as one bidding an atonal

. poor wife .' What wretched -
bat purpose? "
be will of < .11 Hermione sobbi then

Uowly rai»ing bi side, half lin

.. —as both felt for ever.

ised himself slightly and held out
bo f. '-d tuwan .1 her hand on

rod j "my life I my love '
he would have clasped ho
with a sudden spasm of fear and anguish -she turned abruptly
and wont back as if a blast of her face.

0 ! you are an al .he said. " It is a sin to

■

The Cattleman's Afagasnu.

"So be it ! " he answered, and covered his face in bil ham Is.

Sobbing, not daring to trust herself at this moment, loving
with all her old fervour, but afraid of God and bound by her pron
to the priest, Hermione rushed from the room— again passing hy the
corridor, not through the door of communication — and kneeling at
her faldstool before her crucifix, said some prayers which she tried
hard to believe comforted her, and which she knew did not. Her
heart *U full of the dear husband whom she had put away from her
for ever; and in her sorrow she found herself wishing that she had
been left still unconverted, and not afraid to love one who had every
virtue but that of Faith. But Richard passed through this Gethxemanc
without even the comfort of prayer — with nothing but his own strong
heart to support him, and his love for her who had left him, to so
his despair at his bereavement.

C II a iter XXI.

PLUCKED FROM THE BURNING.

1 1 v,.ts not all subtle spiritual courtship, the better to make idle
women of means into devoted daughters of the Church, that employed
the tine and thoughts of Mr. Laseelle*. He had the more mascu-
line part of Ins parish-Work to attend to, and the sturdy men of the
people to convince, with their soft hearted wives to win, as well as
those idle women of means to interest. And, to do him justice,
he was indefatigable in his activities of conversion on all sides
alike.

He really did give himself without stint to the good work, a$ he
euphemistically called his endeavour to break down mental inde-
pendence and manly self-respect, and to render habits of thrift and
•hi unnecessary. For the Church has doles for her obedient
children :'.. . the place of lapsed wages; and she makes it

part of hi • doty to prove to the faithful that the time given to the
service of the Lord il not time taken from the maintenance of the
family, and that the cupboard need not go bare because the choir has
its servitors and the nave its worshippers. The vicar set great store
by this charitable bribery which to him represented righteousness :
and put out his strength to effect the personal and economic de-
moralization of men l>y means of this lavish almsgiving which is
powerful an agent in the hands of a proselytizing priest

By this time he and Sister Agnes had cut out for themselves I

Under which Lord ' 21

thin they could do without help, The Com i Ionic was

so* in full working order, with Sister Barbara as 1 ;n-chargc,

Sitter Agnes as the Lady Superintendent, the vicar as Superior and
Chaplain, and thi who had districts as Visitors. Affiliated to the

Home was a Cottage Hospital which the ladies also visited on set days.
Having to find a raiton d'etre for its existci' they did their

bat te fill it with "cases," whether of the right kind or no. If a man
bad a twinge of rheumatism or a woman an aching back, the district
lisitor would coax both the one and the other into the hospital, where
ritaalisB and beef-tea, confession and t Soft bed, (he intercession of
the Holy Virgin when entreated and human kindness without as
for it, prayers to the saint* and presents to the children, went hand iii
and the Church proved herself the mother whose service was
endowment as well as salvation, and whose loving arms not only
protected her faithful worshippers from the fiery darts Of the l.-.il
Ooc, but sheltered them in the dark days of materia] trouble.

Then there were daily ■ mattins " and " evensong ; " full choral
services on Wednesday and Friday; "early celebration" and
three to follow on Sunday; the saint-.' days rigid!)

strted, and the vigils of the more important to boot; there were pro
cessions to arrange and methods of worship to teach ; the Sttl
school to superintend; the choir to train: doctrine to develope ;
confessions to r, 1 crctly, but none the less actively ; Bible-

classes for men and those for women, separately, taken twi e .1 week;
weekly lectures to men to be given, and the lending library to look
after ; there .others' meetings, women's te;i-drinkin^-.

leasts on the one hand and catechizing on the other ; ihc erMf,
the infant-school, the clothing-club, the penny savings-bank, the
coal rlub, the blanket fund, the shoe fund — what not ! — to keep going.
Tbedayswcrc indeed full for both ; and both nine and strength wen
IgtoraU this machinery for the subjugation ol the parish by self-
interest here and superstitious fear there- Hem e 11 was absolutely
necessary that there should be parochial assistance, and that too of
a liberal kind.

There was no money in the living itself to pay for curates Of
but the Molyneuxs contributed a large sum, and laid
down one carriage, two horses and a man; and riennione gave
saoner large sum. and laid down nothing, but got into debt instead ;
sad devoted friends at a distance lent a helping hand in this war of
QrisDan, in the person of the Honourable and Reverend I.auncclot
lasnrflet, with Apollyon as Richard Fullcrton, now carried on at
r, though Crossholmc was only a quiet country

The Gentleman's Magazine.

parish, of apparently no account in the world, yet the fight was excit-
ing the most ardent interest among the sect at large; and poor
Apollyon was destined to have a hud time of it

At first Mr. Lascelles had got on l>y himself, with part local and
steady, part foreign and spasmodic, helji. Cuthbert Molyneux had
made himself his lay assistant almost from the first, and was now
reading for Orders, when he would receive his title as Curate of
Crossholme, and devote himself also as consecrated economic de-
moralizer of the parish ; and stray Priests and Brothers, with an occa-
sional Father— specially Father Truscutt, who was making hjj own
little path down heir, as yet cleverly concealed — had come from their

0 parishes and •■missions" to see how thingswere going and lo
help in the services. But now the regular staff had been got together,
chiefly by the help of the Molyneuxs and Hermionc ; so that, with
the vicar and his sister, they had in all — counting nursing sisters and
Cuthbert Molyneux — eight people specially devoted to the manipu-
lation of about fifteen hundred souls, all told. With the staff of
visiting ladies, and well-disposed young men and maidens of the
superior half of the operatives and little shopkeepers, it made a for-
midable body of workers for ritualism and against freedom.

There was one thing which perhaps expressed more than all else
the tit -mendous power that the vicar and his sister had already |
Over the women of the place — their dress.

:n Hermionc downward — Hermionc, who had been DOtOTJ
for her superb millinery, against which the only thing that could be
said was that it was too beautiful for the country, and who had now
gone into the groove of simplicity with the rest— from her downward,
the ladies and young women who had devoted themselves to the
work of the Church were all noticeable for studied plainness of attire.
So far Sister Agnes had been a public benefactress. She allowed no
gay colours among those who came to the Vicarage to embroider
chasubles and stoics— no frills, nor furbelows, nor fettering tying
back of skirts, nor sweeping trains eddying round the feet in em-
barrassing curves of graceful entanglement ; she forbad all jewelry,
and cried out against fluffy heads and fringed foreheads ; she suffered
nothing but dark dresses plainly made, smooth braided hair, lin
instead of la<x-; and for gold and silver ornaments, such as arc worn
the unregencrate, she substituted a big black cross or a small sit
crucifix which hnd been duly blessed by — the one who had the
power. A mcmlwr "I the Sister1* •' Band of Church Workers " could
be told at a glance ; and, as wax said, nothing proved the power
her influence and her brothers more than this ability to dominate the

ncn
.by
Jver
the
uld
red
the

Under -which Lord?

passion of womanhood, by reducing the luxury of fashion to
the simplicity of a uniform. Having done this, they had fulfilled die-
hardest task of all

It was strange how pauperism began to increase under this rule ol
Fa»h»nd< '.rations. Up to now Crossholmc had been

noted tor its manly indcj>cndcncc US well at for its cleanliness of
Hroj. Dead to ill forms of religion- . what had been

waning in spiritual aspiration had been made up in civic action, and
aurals were pure where belief was cloudy. Belief indeed had been
eien more than cloudy. Under Mr. Aston the parish church had been
acreiythe symbol of parochial rights and national unity, where
certain ceremonies were performed of common usage and legal obli-
gation but of no vital benefit ; and no dissenting missionary had
succeeded in establishing a Little- Betas! of any denomination.
Methodist, YYcsIcyan, Baptist— all had been tried and each had
tailed. The seed had been cast on ground so stony, that not even
duckweed or groundsel would grow there ! For the last fourteen
or fifteen years a body! of men, inspired and directed by Richard
Fallerton, had been gradually gathering together who had abjured the
pablk-house and die church alike, and had lived the lives of honest,
sober, self-respecting heathens. Little mat done iri the way of charity ;
lets in the way of misdemeanour ; nothing in the way of crime.
To be on the parish rates was held licre as next door to being in the
county gaol ; and the working men were content to be let alone by
lie rich, provided always they were not hindered. Ground game
was free, and no one sought to poach the pheasants ; compensation
was made when the field went over the growing crops ; and on all
kinds there was a friendly kind of feeling abroad, because the poor
respected themselves and by so doing made the rich respect them too.
To be sure, in the hard winter times there was a little relaxing of
tic high standard which else was so well maintained j and pannikins
of good stout savoury soup were to be had in the Abbey kitchen by
say who chose to come for them. But this was always given, as
•ell as asked for, under a slight veil of pretence that appealed to
soman kindness and saved pride -to warm tin- little children

siea thejreame home wet and half frozen from school ; or to comfort
Ah sick body or that aged person who could not eat meal and yet
d nourishment. And the independence of the men was main
rased also by a kind of fiction, whi on required:— 4a work

ixzsg made for them which was not necessary to be done, but the
g at which earned money and prevented almsgiving. So that
like drunkenness, was almost rooted out of the place,

The Gentleman s Magazine.

and Crossholme cost the ratepayers less in relief than any
parish in the union, and was nowhere in the criminal statistics of the
county; but also it was of no value to the revenue.

Now things were changing, and the place was becoming church-
going and pauperized at a hand gallop. The women, won over by
gift'- and kindly talk, influenced the men as they always have done.
Between a bare cupboard, with hungry children crying round the door,
and a full table and the gaping mouths well fed, what mother would
hesitate? — more espe< i.illy when all the price to be paid was going daily
to a well-lighted, well-warmed churrh, where were bonny things to
sec and pleasant things to hear, with .1 hcaitSOBM chftt with the
neighbours coming home and a good word from the gentry ! If Mr.
Fullcrton was a fine man and a good master, so mi Mr. I-ascclks;
and better every way than the other, Mr. I'ullerton exacted his
pound of flesh in labour; but the vicar, he gave freely, and asked for
nothing in return but what was good for their own souls. Fur
surely no one could deny that it was right to go to church week-days
as well as Sundays ; for if it was God's House on the Sabbath bo it
was on the week-day. So the vicar said ; and he ought to know if
any one did — it came into his business. And then surely, again, it
was ever SO nun h Utter lur the children to have stout shoes for

;:.;, ami themselves a mum blanket or a good gown
that Jack or Bill should maunder away his evenings listening to *

gentleman who, the rieai and fail nater said, taught a lot o: things

M were mere He* — as could be proved by the Bible any day. And
vou come to talk of independence — well, it is all very well for
folks who have enough to be so high, but the Bible itself says the
rich ought to give to the poor ; and that would never have
said if it was a shame for the poof (0 take what was given.

So the women argued; and the constant dropping wore away the
granite of self-respect, and by degrees made the nun as little averse
from pan perflation as themselves.

Coincident with this DION direct appeal to their personal interests,
carried on by means of the women, the virar did his best to sap
Richard's mflaeace over the minds of the men by the way of the
intellect. He thuya spOkc of him with a high-bred, archangelic
kind of pity, as St Mi tui-i nrighl speak of Lucifer, if also with the
satirical contempt ot i for a quack. He was careful never to

treat him as an intellectual equal, when discussing him with those
who were well affected to agnosticism ; only as a spei ious charlatan
who could be turned inside out by any thoroughly well-read di
For instance, Father Truscott, who preached to them last Sunday on

Under which Lord?

the divine character of Authority— or Brother Swinfcn, who proved
to them the personal existence of Satan and the everlasting and
material pains of hell, and besought tlicm as reasonable men to
conquer the one and escape Eton the oilier by the means held out to
them by the Church and her ordinances either could blow Mr.
Fullcrton out of the water in ten no ind prow ban few what he

was — an impudent, mendacious, pmumptuous infidel

lie said with Si ile magnanimity end toleration

for the innocently misled it grieved him to sec how, for want Of MBM
one toexposc! they, the honest men of Crossholmc, not able

to devote diem this poor charlatan's favourite sal

l>ecn led to believe in errors at which any really scientific man would
laugh. ill, announced to-day as ima I and inullil.h. would be

overthrown to- morrow by a new theory and a further discover)-- He
did not promise more llian he could perform, he said at the Bible
class when shot these bolts which were to trail 1 *

—he would lay the two schemes of thought candidly
before then :o judge between Divine Truth and Mr.

Fullcrton '» falsehood.

In accordan* it h promise he gave lectures on Richard's

1 night of Monday, and on his own ground of science. He

down from London to do the hard work for him . but

whoever lectur proofs always went the opposite way of

and showed that all the con hat infidel

had come were full in the teeth of evidence and in defiance of <r

(act. And then he fell back on the possibility of mystery anil the

impossibility of disproof, and challenged them to show where Ins

nation of thing edible than Mr. 1'ullcrton's. Both

postu same thin. led God and the other Force —

he a d rtt, and all-wise l'rovidcncc, the other

And now, granting his view to be the truth

1 was— there was nothing in the Bible that should disturb or

lex them. Miracles were as much an order of the Divine rule as

was absurd to supp which bad

could not control, and that the creature might not be regained

u was the back-bone of all meats: Who shall limit?

lied by the exhortation to believe Christianity and the

Bible at all events. '• If nut true, no harm is done ; but if true, and

you reject it, where will you be then? Consigned to eternal perdi-

and the never-ending torments of hell

These lectures were always accoinjanied by tea and bur

The Gentleman s Magazine.

music and tinging, and enlivened by pretty pictures hung against
walls and often changed. The women were encouraged to come
and bring their knitting or sewing with them ; and all that remained
over of the tea and cake was slipped into maternal pockets for

BB left at home. Then was nothing to pay for all thisas at the
Institution, which, respecting their independence, R» bud wonted his
Dai to feel man their own property than his gift. But Mr. I -ascellcs
gave everything and demanded only obedience in return. One
clause of this charter of obedience touched on the matter of litera-
ture, which was to be limited to such books as were approved of by
him. Nothing whatever was to be taken out of the infidel library of
the Institution, and only such works read as were supplied by the
lending library presided OVBJ by the vicar. Then, his demands
growing as he felt his w;iy onwanl and made his footing more secure,
the men were required to absent themselves altogether from the

Institution ; and the member* sensibly diminished, as did that of the
agnostic's Monday hearers. All but those thoroughly committed and
in e '.in to drop in only shyly and at rare intervals, instead

of constantly tad boldly; some looking half afraid of being seen
there, with the sentiment of breaking the law and being trounced
for it, if caught: and others with a false courage which betrayed
them as much as the franker discomfort of the more timid. Then
the vicar got up village sports, such as cricket and football,
but only for his own party — thereby breaking up the teams which
hitherto had played together. For he allowed no one in hi-. E
who was not a regular churchgoer and communicant; whereby he
won over not a few from among Mr. Fullcrton's men, when the play
had become stinted for want of players. He gave large donations,
too, for every conceivable purpose, ecclesiastical or secular, social or
intellectual— In. t only fbl < ommunicants — rigidly excluding all who
went to that infidel shop over there by the Abbey Park gates.

All of v.liii li re* ruited so many for the army of the Church
Militant that brother and sister, when they reckoned Up their gains
as they often did at the Vicarage, were justified in saying between
themselves that the infidel stronghold was thoroughly invested by
now, and that Aiwllyon would soon be brought low.

It may be remembered that John Gr George Pcarcc, I

son-in-law, were tenants on the Molyneux estate ; that Tom Mc
head's shop and forge belonged to the Abbey ; and that Adam Be
shop was on part of the glebe. The vicar had soon made short
of the little chandler, or rather he himself had made short work of 1
own coquetting with infidelity ; for, as we know, long before prcssur

Under xohick Lord?

hid been put on any from without, Adam Hell hail executed hi*
rainceuvre of retreat, and had faced round with his back to Mr.
FuBerton and his eyes on Mr. l.ascellcs. II re was safe in

ka holding ; but John Grave*. ' -eorge Pearce, Dick

Stooc and others in the lini JQed <•' r, were in

dager; and Tom Moori ■ .. would hi

if he did not reform Iwfore it was too I. d bad

fencd in tfa ing was preparing now to b liahed

act, and if these men would nol «r, then should they be driven

ITicrc were oil ■• these who were as clearly commuted

10 Richard and agnosticism ; but they need not be brought 01
tone, which they would encumber not illustrate-
Though Mr. Lasccllcs was, by the very necessities of his posii
tewted by the presumptuous independence of these rccal
Members of the Christian commumt;. , be s a all the same determined
Mttolose a chance of bringing them into the (bid ; .mil from the first
fated the three chief misdemeanant* with special considocation. He
finesed with stately courtesy to thtii arguments, hah m:; and broken
a they were — arguments which b of the result than the

method, and which she. ith all the ;ded, 0*1 iIk'>'

d because they had been told, not because they had found
od prove* beat to destroy their confident e in

themselves and their instructor by sudden, sharp, anil Marching
Boos which they were by no means ready 1 r; such as tflOK

oooal tesb. of all anti-evoluii I low about the missing link?

«ad the bridge between two divi 9, whereof no man

h» )et found the exact moment aw ise form; while —

tuynot Life be the work 01 ligence, as well as be the

">•«« rolviog itself into con-

•wmness? Even Mr. Fullerton was obi know-

■Ms: t 1 >nc form of mystery which was comforting rather

tian another \ ry ?

i.;h the men could : turn with scholarly arg

«nd though the)- were neither to be bribed by favour nor bent by fear,
J«t some among thet ivered and confessed that ■

did a hem everything. George i'earcc was the one Stho

doctrine of Law and the sclf-conscioi
of mm .our of spiritual if I Divine influence, while

Moorhcad was only the more strengthened in boll h
opposition by ti arguments against him.

And now, having exhausted his slock of forbearance, Mr. Lascellcs
drew on that other fund— his righteous indignation, and resolved tliat

The Gentleman's Magazine.

the Church should no longer be vexed by the continued presence -it
her gates of these her enemies. John Graves and his son-in-law were
tcnants-at-will whom a month's notice would dispossess at any time, but
Tom Moorhead had a lease terminable at three months' notice. The
vicar, of couse, had Cuth ben's consent in his pocket ; and he was going
to make the blacksmith's holding a test of his power over Hcrmionc.
George's sickly wife was scarcely well over her trouble, when the
vicar called one day at the house. She was silting over the fire
nursing her baby whose poor little flickering life, after having almost
cost hei own, was evidently not destined to remain long in a world
which is intolerant of weakness and where the poor have to work. It
had been a bad time all through fur Nanny, but the vicar and his
sister had been ".li.it dutiful, she said with tears in he* eyes, .is she
could never foreei , ami SUM B&rblia from the Home had been like
a mother to her. If it had not been for all of them, indeed, she-
would never have held on : but they had wrought for her
grandly, and she and her child had been spared.

When George, mindiul of his independence, had wished to n
their help :md -.end them back with their pannikins unemptied and
their j, Hies untouched, they had put aside his scrapie* with such true

I human feeling— they had been so Christian, so communistic il
vim will, so earnest only to be of service to a sick creature nc
care, and to preserve a new-born life for the world — there had been
such a marked absence of all proselytizing — when he was by — that
his pride and his fears alike had been set at rest ; and he was tain Kl
be thankful tor help which saved his wife and child, and asked DOthi
in return but the leave to serve.

Even the vicar had not bothered him with religion ; though
had, unknown to him, prayed with Nanny lying there between life

■ —and touched her heart once and for ever, as he knew he
should. He had left George to event? which, he calculated rightly,
would do i work for him through his affections ; and r:

Came to drive in tin ii i how much he could hang on it.

U lun be went into the cottage Nanny rose with a great deal of
unconscious grace and intentional reverence. The vicar's hand*
some person, courtly manners, and high-priestly assumptions had
taken possession of her imagination, as much as his condesce i
and the human kindness of the whole body of High Church workers,

Softened her heart and aroused her gratitude. She smiled all

ha |>oor wan face when he stooped his fine head and came in
with that grand mingling of the gentleman and the priest which was
so essentially his characteristic. And she smiled still more

II IU

ling
and

Under which Lord?

fas

blushed, when he shook hands with her so paternally, and looked
toby and patted its face with his fore finger, and told her to be
cated, and ly how things went with her and her

-"as if hr had been an old wife him

;nd he such a grand gentleman!"
And tl-.i .: down by her, he opened fire 1 . ami

told her what had to be done.

He was very sorry, he said ; no ouc more so ; and he bad
twang Mr. Molyneux quiet until now, always hoping, like Moses, thai
God would soften the stubborn hearts of those who were now His
enemies, and turn them to grace and truth ; but now he could keep
their landlord back no longer. He was determined, said Mr

with an air half pitying half approving, not to give longer
tenancy to a set of men who d< I run! denied His Holy Word,

in<! despised all that be and every otha Churchman h< Id n otl dai
and sacred- And Nanny could see for herself, he said, thai it was
scarce 1 ■ for a man like Mr Molyneux to harboux those

who were on the road which her father and hu-liand, and some

in the Row, had taken. Would she like to give shelter to a

nun who slandered her mother, and did all the harm thai he could

her husband, and would kill her child if he had the chat

buld she not rather bid him begone and shut the door hard and

,tlun keep with him on terms of friendship, and even

e near to her own ? And this was just what they who

were < felt for those who crucified Christ afresh by their

•y. So that she could scarcely be surprised if Mr. Molyneux

want to keep that lot as tenants, and pre ferred, on the con-

roold, at the least, not hinder nor blaspheme the

k of the Church in the parish.

oor Nanny assented sorrowfully, not able in justice to

II then, what was to be done ? tht it on to say. Her

rati too much set in his own way for any hope of his giving
hut George— might he not be influenced? II. would not be the
t unl l*ad been saved by a believing wife.

She was delicate an to beat the

nd tear of a Sitting, and the Child was tOO weakly to be taken
into a new cold house, with all the draughts about and nothing
warmed. Could she not prevail on George to give up going to Mr.
Fullcrton's lectures ami to tal of members of

—that hot-bed of d no good here

and would ruin him for everlasting ! It was not much to ask ; and

3°

The Gentleman s Magazine.

nuu ,

then he would keep his home and not expose her and their little one
to certain danger and probable death.

I he vicar pleaded with Nanny long and eloquently, and when he
left he had got her promise to influence her husband — if she could ;
BBd if she could win over her father ild her crown of

be complete !

however, was not likely. John found in llie darkness
agnosticism more comfort, because less contradiction, than there was
for him in the light of revelation — which leaves things in the same state
as the other, he used to say, but entangled by the admission of ■
which could set them all straight if it would ; stn, misery and igno-
■II to be done away with ' i— Satan pardoned— hell

-bed— and the reign of I I happiness begun to-moirow, if

only it would 1 He was a strong-headed, noble-minded k
man, who could suffer without need of comfort ; but George
was of a slighter menial make, younger, and not hal>
to pain; and sorrow broke bin up as it breaks up women, and
made him yearn for external support. Nanny'* near skirting by
death had stirred him deeply. It had sent him to his knees for
ome one to whom to cry aloud in the dark-
ness—for a Father to lay hold of— -a Saviuur to redeem him.
Man's philosophy was all very well as a quiet mental speculation,
id dry on his soul when in pain ; and when the
told Nanny, and Nanny repeated it to him as of her own
notion, that God was leading him through sorrow — chastening him
as a sinner before receiving him as n son— i ale into

his heart; good seed, said the vicar, which would germinate and bring
forth fruit in abumdance.

Yet i ma misery untold to him to f.
right to say he was a turncoat
ng the ship for
before had there been a breath against his char id though

should go into the more powcrl-
yet he dreaded that men should say how he had I

•
Mid that i Old, *' If it be true? " that ll

night and

At Nan
ofDunyai
an'1

i-ack. Ai

Under which Lord?

she had influence over him — such as good, tender, modest women have
over good and some "u'ne-natured men. So indeed, for the

. had his father-in-law influence ; and so had Richard
on. But all the same, in spite of the arguments of thi
' U it be true ? " stuck hkc a leech, and disposed him to listen— and
more than listen— when Nanny pleaded recantation of his errors
rod the abandonment of Richard FidlotOO for the Church

She got so much of her 1 that he consented to b( r

ptblicchu; ; Sunday ; and also to 1

rhild. The vicar had told her plainly that, should it die anbaptittd,
ke would not allow it to be buried in the churchyard nor run
hncral service read over it. And he had added with companionate
rmplusis : "Poor little frail lamb I II to live

through to-day; and that it should be d of eternal hie by

nan's cruel blindness 1"

This was the argument that finally rnovi '1 (fanny .and through

ier secured George. He consented to her prayer, pal use ii

m her jwayer and put! ng in

of x something " might boreal after all I and h

be would go with her and face the neighbours like a man. It

wi too, only what he owed the vicar for his kindness— he confessed

d Mr. Fullerton was not the gentleman t in an

at things all round.

Wherefore next Su ■■-■ who knew how had been

n law wi or scandalized

accor! . and wh nt, to sec

George Pcarce and his wife at chin , their

dakl i publicly ■■■ <odt of Ihe An

Cirrch. 1 day John and a few more had notice

1; and Nanny, while crj rly for her

I .ord had interposed to save her and
ha own house from destruction.

But if only John would have flown out at him ! thought George,
at ihr >buut the younger man's fireside. It

le would have turned against him and

ict, but by the look

-icss was the poor young

• was nol mui li in John's way, and he

sake and <

because he was aces.

raid moment John felt that as
;» George did bad look, and looks £0 as tax

The Gentleman s Magazine.

as things somctim. •- , and people must be less given to evil-thinking
than most are, if they can accept such a coincidence U tb
dental, and not see in it the best way of escaping a forfeit
having played on the chanee of winning. Tom Moorhead was not
of that liberal kind, nor was Untie Bco, nor Dick Stern, nor
Rose, nor any one else who had received his notice to quit. Each
had his word to fling at George when the papers came in, and he
it undisturbed; and when, for the first time for ten years or
more, John went off to the lecture alone, he felt as if he had left a
death behind him, :iml had lust for ever the son who had been dear
to him. Poor George tilt badly too, when he saw his friend and
father go without him ; but he WU acting according to his cons,
and giving his new thoughts a chance ; and though the direction had
been in every way different, he had been trained by Richard I-'ullcnon
f Kfiance and courage towards his own convictions.

How different indeed it all was ! Instead of the Great Stone
liook of Geology from which Mr. Fullerton was wont to recite his
lessons for the day, Nanny made her husband raad aloud some parts
of the New Testament which Mr. Lascelles had indicated ; and she
herself kneeled down and prayed for faith and forgiveness out of a
little Manual of Devotion which also he had given her, at the very
:it when that defiant lecturer was proving to his hearers noi
only the inutility but also the presumption and rcbelliousneM <f
r, on either hypothesis of, in the one ease absolute law, in the
other an omnipotent and beneficent Power as the ruler of the universe.

"Where is George?" asked Richard, who knew nothing of
yesterday's testimony in the church.

John Graves looked away, embarrassed and distressed.

" Not ill. I hope?" he asked again.

" Not in body, sir," said John.

" In trouble ? What is amiss, John ? "

" He has been got hold of, sir. Nanny'-, illness troubled him,
you sec, and made him feel lonesome and like in the dark. He said
to me the day when she was at the worst, ' Oh, father ! if I could but
pray and believe that I should be heard ! " and now you see, sir. it lux
come. He had the child baptized yesterday in church, and be was
there himself to sec it done. 1 doubt if hc'il come here a
I'm sorry; but a man's convictions must be respected, however Eu
adrift they may be."

•• I am sorry, too," said Richard gravely. " I can see it all. Mr.
Lascelles hit the right moment. They are all clever in that "

"Yes," said John, with a slight sigh; "what between coaxing

(///</•

sad buByin;- s nnd their affections, their

wot ..i more than

nrjlil ever go over got hold Ol

daxgsu-r through George, a
tf all others in the yi
Hcstopiwd, and

'V\hy now?" asked R den lush.

• ir ?

jrou sec. sii id John ; — " all ol

Row as belong to tl George is me only one

lunmolesU'l l Icnov

lie of thi doubt

ugly— there's no doubt of lli.
'lim sorry t" heai ihal youx ho

" Where are you thinking of going?"
The tailor shook

"There"* ne'<; wit me i i onVhe !

"avi Mr Molynetix knows ihi tat

own hand, an

kx u many yean b id ; but new men and

otw oteuur- bout the size of it m

bcJmc."

" If you arc harassed and want a place, I will build one for you
•ad for yow broth ire difpOSSecSi '

: " I should like to have the lot of von as my
Joe looked up led.

"'Hunk you, sir," he answered bear) id not a man among

oba would rather have yiin for his landlord than any other ' Then,

tt rather an anxious tone, he added, " I hope you do not led )our-

ng, sir? Vou are k> i all a

of sorts."

Richard aj 1 am all right, thank you, Jo]

Kr. [> well , for you arc our main prop, you

no the other's face

ipathy and undisguised I on the

hook hands and partci! id went back to his

is did John < had taken

( To be tmlimuJ. )
rot. ccxlv. mo. 17*.?.

Tke Gentleman's Magazine.

inc
lion

MEN OF LETTERS
PARLIAMENT.

Ii : of many iUustratio

Addison downwards, th:it the man of tetters is not a
Parliament. Ii appears reasonable to budj he should be,

that he brings to the consideration of public business those
qualities of cultivated intellect and power of expression which are

illjr needed Of course politics arc a thing apart, ■ i
ability intelligently to discuss and usefully to express an 0]
ot given to every nun, though there i
found at any time unready to settle off-hand the afihi lUy of

nation but of a Continent Still, the more a man knows of one

he unfeigncdly to ml nil- of others;

successful novelist, for ight be ex

returned to the House of Commons, he deprecated expectation that
he should strai bine in his new

there ore cases in
books a remarkable aptitude ding and advising

public affairs, and yet, when rncnt on the s

of the reputation thus | has proved a lamentable failu:

We need not go farther back than the time of Jolin Stur.:
an illustration. Mr. Mill has, perhaps more than any single m
any generation, contributed to the formation of poll b ion

land. So louse of Co

John Stuart Mill without knowing it, as M. Jc

in sniiil.u ignorance. They
first or second !

them, ho i they arc setting fb

and conferring on mankind their own wiml

lute failure- He tot speak well in th-

menury sense of the term, but what he said wa
g. In lat is, the pr-

ied was not sufficient to still sign:
'lis being regarded -

Men of LelUrs in Parliament. 35

We have in the House at the present time an instance in some
«iy ikin to that of Mr. John Stuart Mill. Mr. Fawcett does not hold
as high a place in literature as did Mr. Mill, nor is he so distinctly a
Parliamentary failure as was the great political economist Yet,
none would claim for Mr. Fawcett that his success in the House of
Commons is commensurate with his acknowledged ability. The
meu'jre of attention which he commands is largely due to the convic-
tion co the part of the House generally inn, like the compulsory
companion of the AncicDt Mariner, they have no choice but to hear.
la oilier days there have been many pitched kittle; between the
member for Hackney and the House of Commons, the one essaying
to coatinue a speech and the other endeavouring to bring the
harangue to a termination. In these contests Mr. Fawcett has
ahnys come off victorious. I do not remember a single instance in
•Sick he has not asserted the supremacy of his lungs when opposed
to (he united chorus of the House of Commons. Members accord-
ing tacitly acknowledge themselves beaten, asserting only the free-
dom of individual choice about remaining within sound of the
taidest voice. The House as a body cannot prevent Mr. Fawcett
addressing it at lengths averaging between forty minutes and two
noon. But honourable members are at liberty to leave their places,
tolwnge in the library, to loiter in the lobby, or to trifle with time
00 the terrace ; andofthi they avail themselves with remark-

iMe snanimity.

Thus it comes to pass that Mr. Fawcett makes the most tre-
mendous harangues to audiences averaging from five to fifteen. His
speech on Indian finance, delivered just before the Whitsun recess,
had for its most important passages an audience of five members,
lioitted that there. arc few men in the House who are more
thoroughly acquainted with Indian afiairs than he, or whose opinion
b worthy of more candid consideration. Moreover, the occasion
particular speech was 11 il one. The oration had
*ea long announced, and was 1 with great care

d trouble. And yet there were found only live men to listen to
oe nas the Sj>eaker ; the second was Mr. Stanhope,

aog-SccrcUry for India, who was in his place perforce; the
tied ' lour, who liting to make a sp

* ha own; h wan ti. tin in the

Hone if t! of the chair ;

fciAhwas Mr. Kavanagh.

s a reason ready at hand for this paradoxical
oxdincn of affairs. The House would be very much obliged for

Tlie Gentleman s Magazine.

Mr. Fawcctt's opinion, and would give it all the attention wr
justly eoi But it cannot do with his speech. Mr. Fawcet

has many advantages which, reasonably used, should make him
Parliamentary He has a xonom he has cultur

and he issages which reach il

level of orator)-. But these last arc hut oases in an infinite
of arid words. Hit hopeless disease is fluency He
any li bis ability to the uttermi

There is do bristiM use of order about his speeches. Be

repeats himself, do) id what I

hammered out so long

than conviction. If he could only be compelled t- a son

of his tremendous harangues into the space of two.
he would be a power in the House, for every om
honesty of his purpose, the disinteresiedn i

and the soundnew of his information. however

shown even (

ional, example of th
into which a B elf "hen he

gain fresh fame in the new field of politici and There

is, or was, another professor, whose manner of life is worth Ins
careful study. Professor Newcomh was as chary of speech ■
Fawcctt is pro iog one day tat

a wedding by his wife, he followed the example of the rest i
guests, and, advancing to the I arried pur, shook hand

them. Ha perl lb great g-

a word. "Why didn't something to them ?" his wife re-

proachfully asked him. "I doa'l know, my dear," replied the pro-
fessor ; " I ihink I had any new facts to impart.'' If Mr.

etl would approach the discharge of In n in the I

of Commons in this frai to the

country, and an advantage to 1 ension of

cc of pov
on bk speak. I'

In an asset)

arc voluminous appeal

thesis that am it one

need not desire an
Gladstone. As an rablc an

Men of Letters in Parliament. 37

approachable. As a writer, he would be, save for his name and
personal reputation, unreadable. Some one asked 1 Old Beaconsfieid

be I- id read a parucutai art!

engaging a goud i: ntion.

■• I looked Ihro " but 1 cannot

say I read it 1 can 1 Mr. Glad)

me, read what he writes."
il or personal t of a

;t won li!

long, invob I why, and

able to listen to.
from the general argument, thai be carries
labit that wouJ
awback, Whenheaddn House of Commons

filters Ins thoughts through long
sentences. II il of himself and of his the

-tands before an audience prevents any ambiguity or ob-

y of meaning. He always knows exactly n°'nBi

hut be pa tD know. I J) ••

parcnl ruciion of his sentences, ni

ilangcrous length, is due to the abnormal activity of his mind and

If he has a Guilt as a
sjieaker, he sees too much all round the question he Ifl disco

ingencics and
•h»* h ;irc li .1. As his mind ■ ■

lAjnis a tas, which it must needa

apion.-. h tent that others might not

sad ild not, sec. but Mr. Gladstone perceives them, and,

he
1 iK with hi •
ills,
; laborim step .

on, detracts from tl
ncy of his forward 1 An Ellu

v may be found by talcing 1 of hi»

1
tone of rcspoi 1 i be found thai 1 ■ •

parcnthctka), a

.«ncM, as lent is reached. Hi

carries this oratorical ti emu that makes his

The Gentleman's Magazine.

speech wholly incomprehensible I have heard him speak for twenty
minutes on a nutter of great delicacy, in which he interposed as a
sort of amicus curia between a section of the Opposition and the
Government] tad when he sat down not a soul in the bewildered
House hod iIk- slightest idea on which side he had cast his opinion.

A modification of this habit of expression is not unadmisnble in
the case of a man addressing an audience. We are less exacting in
respect of syntax, and even of grammar, when ■ man is speaking
than when he is writing. It is obvious that in listening to a speech
there is less opportunity for narrow criticism ; and, indeed, what pleases
in the one case would be distasteful in the other. Pascal, discussing this
question why orators arc often not good writers, attempts to account for
it by the suggestion that the faces of the audience, and a certain subtle
magnetism interchanged by living beings, kindle the oratorical faculty
and draw more out of a man than may be found in him in his study.

I venture to think tlut it is not a question of drawing more or less
out of a man. Addison went nearer the mark when, asked how
it was that he. so brilliant and facile an essayist, was awkward and
well-nigh dumb when expected to speak, he replied, " Madame, I
have only nineptnee in my pocket, but I Call draw for ,£l,000."
The essential difference b ood writing and good speaking

lies deep in natural tendency of expression. Some men, having a
message to deliver, instinctively write it well or ill ; oth k it

well or ill. But when a good style is acquired either as a writer
or a speaker, it proves fatal to carry that style into the mode
of expression- — whether it he by pen tir tongue — oilier than that
in which faiilily was acquired. The best of Addison's essays,

delivered as a spee bio die House of Commons, would be voted bald,

tame, and wearisome. Mr. Gladstone's speeches, published in the
Nineteenth Century under the thin disguise of magazine articles, lose
mOK than half their strength by the mappropri..!. mess of their position.
We have in these latter the parentheses, the involution, and thccloudy
length of the sentence-- ivhii b mark the orator's style. Hut we miss
the sonorous voice, the animated gesture, the eloquent by-play, and
the subtle magnetism of a crowded and watchful audience. Mr.
Gladstone, more perhaps than any otha conspicuous writer, carries
into his study the mental habits and forms of expression <>f an

orator. His articles I Speeches Still DOm, skeletons of

orations from which the :. dried off. and in which the lifc-

blood is stagnant.

It cannot be denied that the Prime Minister is an instance of a
man whose literary fame vies with his oratorical triumphs. This

1 JUS is

of Letters in Parliament .

an exception which I admit the more cheerfully, because u ii mi
i find a parallel. Moron',. to the

extent works .ire oratorical,

even i A supreme geni m from (he

asssges from i. at I".- qaol

the oratorical passion i m much nearer bathos, than it

would be safe for an ordinary man to go. At his best, the luxurianre
of the or;i l tangled web of many of Lord BeaconsfieM's

page- rttte, top-heavy. The sharp

and polish which characterise the sciv
are absent from the pages of his many novels. His style is loose,
florid, and occasionally weak-kneed. Wt often hear m n

of hi- no one would pro]

model of literary St]

In cases where li u thing) I man has

mode a of a good literary style, it follows with

few e> "ii], <-.rtuiiity for investiga-

• at he isafaili D B, 1 1 1: i- the rase of Mr. Courtney

as an example of what Mr. Courtney was known, long

before he entered Parliament, as a distinguished contributor to the

cal literature of the day. lie was specially reverenced in the
Hou*e as a Parliamentary leader-writer on the staff of the Times.
Hit articles, as far as they were recognisable, were marked by
angularly clear perception of the situation. He said the right thing
in the clearest possible manner, his articles abounding in good sense
•s of wide experience and sound Judgment. If ever
there wasa man who should.h.i a position for himself in Parlia-

oent, surely here was one. Yet Mr. ComtB ma in the House

of Commons has been less calamitous than John Stuart Mill's only
m degree as he is a lesser man and had created minor expectations,
not infrequent participation in Parliamentary debates he has
manifested just thus.- that he would bin Bgtbtmin

others, lied with merciless vigour. It has teemed th:it in the

mere action of riling to address the House, he magically dispossessed
him*: %e of wlut is the right thing to do and say

with which, hsring pen in hand, he had shown himself pre-eminently
gifted. He recites long essays, not lacking in profundity, but fatally
inappropriate to time ai They arc ire bolts,

eminently useful and sometimes invaluable En square hole
hopelessly undesirable in round ones. The lightness, grace, and
strength which mark his literary productions are altogether al
nxjm his spoken addresses. It may be true that this criticism is

.to The C \tCs Magaaine.

liable t'.> !"-• shattered by the disclosure of th-.

iclent.ii n clave in the House ol I

■My prepared essays that
night -liin ■■ merit in I a quarterly t.

But I would urge that this th< i ivcase,as tending to nhow

Iter of
platform, :irc fatal t<>
: and unaccustomed atmosphere of the other,
must be admitted, loose

Of Cot uli journalistic ability of a high order. The right

bon gentleman, with characteristic modesty, docs not make any boast
or publish an j record of us therary efforts. But it is well known
that hi ■■ <■ 0 the leading columns

• Times, ami hi* hand is * magazine litera-

He writes, as he S] 'larly style

Mouse of Commons
the only man of eminence of whom o aid thai I

od manner of Parliamentary
lively hail manner— one that would kill any

,:)y good. Ph;
id 00 a 1 :<-h talked

■iIhiii,. foe up an attempt to deliver a speech

for the simple reason list notes had become intermixed, and

be could in seque.

on a peculiarly sei iturc,

iduced in bim a certain awkward, distrait manner wl

He has many nood things to say; but he
it it frequently ha|

i have to take

words It:: i
■-■ the end
the sting usually lies) he and. speaking with

ied rapidity and * ■ lency on i

lhr Heard of Mr. Lowe's short speeches— and he at

I long one ; >cccli of .1

ofor<; who bs

others. He •
case in a few be that of an 1. you

may b

1 straight from the sbt

Men of Letters in Parliament.

which shall, if not completely shatter the position, make it exceedingly
diflioilt to retain. Whilst Mr. Disraeli was yet with US, Mr. lowc
took a keen delight in esq fallacies into which that illustrious

pcrsoaajje wa* accustomed with easy grace to 1 .ill. In the course
cf his life he has taken infinite pains to put Mr. Disraeli straight. It
a the only t*jk in pretence Of which he was ever known to show the
tightest tinge of enthusiasm. He seemed to delight in finding BUM l> ->
rtfljukaule development ofwhftl he once called the "slatternly mind."
Hcrerelled over it with quite a concentrated zest of a kind akin to
tastcitli which a conchologist pursues the discovery of a new -hell.
waaologist dilates upon an raid orded development Of the en-
lotDOStomata with which he has had the good fortune to meet. Since
Mr. Disraeli has been whelmed in the effulgence of Lord Beaconslield.
Mr. Lowe has distinctly saddened in manner. He rarely Speaks
w», the only inducement sufficiently powerful to arouse him being
an opportunity of declaring himself totally at issue with the
tothich he belongs, as in the debate on the Agricultural FreiX
Resolutions, or in tluttenng the Front Bench by suddenly dccL.nn:;
nbnoarof the Irish University Bill.

Another member who fills a large place in the estimation of the
H.ute of Commons, whilst he still tanks as a gentleman of the press,
Joseph Cowcn. Like Mr. Lowe, the member for Newcastle-
on-Tjnc writes anonymously. But the anonymity which veils the
sackonhip of the letters on " Polities and Parliament," which appear
ddy through the session in the Newtttst/e Chronicle, is but of thin
■stare. !•■ • broad views on political questions, lot rapid and
irapkic characterisation of pen and fur information on home

«d foreign politics, oftsn far in advance of the London papers, this
modest contribution tn the North Country journal lias no equal in
English journalism. As a speaker few men, either above or below
taepagwa;. x the same influence on a debate as does Mr.

Cowen. Ha style of address is modelled rather upon traditions of
rarhajnentary eloquence than upon ; known in the modern

■KtnWy. He is a man who, on fitting occasions, dares to use mi
■essioocd language, and to clothe his thoughts in rhythmic sentence-.
He U an omnivorous reader, and is dowered with the great gift ol ft
•nacioos memo; id with the lessons of history,

*ae leaching* of philosophy, and the grace 01 poetry, he poui
nth Northumbrian accent through the House of Commons a flood
of gtnuinc eloquence. I1 times, certainly no

9wchbdow the level of -Mr. Gladstone's, have created such a pro-
toon! sensation in the House of Commons as did that with w!

The Gentleman's Magazine.

during the debate on the Royal Title Bill in March 1876, Mr. Cowcn
electrified a crowded House.

Still another, and in thil case an erewhile professional journalist,
has achieved genuine success in the House of Commons. Mi. A. M.
Sullivan entered Parliament in circumstances of considerable personal
disadvantage. He was a member of the Home Rule party, and Home
Rulers cannot complain if it be said that they arc not, regarded as a
section of B party, supreme favourites in the House of Commons.
Moreover, Mr. Sullivan brought into the House a style of address to
which it was not accustomed. Curran said of Grattan that he was
wont to scrape the ground with his knuckles as he bent forward in the
passion of declamation, and "thank God he had no peculiarities of
gesture." With no small measure of the eloquence of his great coun-
tryman Mr Sullivan has, oddly enough, reproduced in the House
of Commons the very grolcsqucncss of gesture wh.i h marked
Grattan'* more passionate passages. The assembly which smiled at
Grattan is inclined to laugh at Mr. Sullivan. As a matter of history
it may be said that it did laugh a good deal at Mr. Sullivan upon his
first appearance. Some hon. gentlemen opposite, in the boisterous
good spirits induced by the triumph of Conservative principles, amused
themselves, and others capable of seeing the joke, by mimicking
the cadences of the orator's voice. Mr. Sullivan possibly noted
these things. However it be, he quickly mended them. It must have
been no slight task to a man of liis temperament to curb his voice and
subdue the almost frantic gestures which had grown upon him during
a life-long habit of addressing emotional audiences. Mannerisms of
this kind are always worth getting rid of. They prove instantly and
finally fatal to the chances of a man who has no substantial merit
behind them, lint Mr. Sullivan proved that he had such merit, and
the House of Commons, the quickest and most infallible judge of
character in the world, speedily and frankly acknowledged it. Mr.
Sullivan is one of the few men who rank as orators in the House,
and Mr. Gladstone's rare tribute to " the eloquent member for I .outh ■
gracefully expresses the general opinion of members Mr. Sullivan,
it should be said, has ceased to be a journalist. But, by his brilliant
account of " New Ireland," he has permanently established a claim
to be regarded as a man of letters.

Within the last few months Ireland has sent another distinguished
man of letters to Parliament, and one who bids fair to make a fresh
success in a new field. Mr. Justin McCarthy has only within the
bst few years made his name familiar in English households.
the United States he long ago established a reputation, partly
lecturer, and partly as author and journalist Having written

in the

, i„

Ely a.

ten a

Men of Letters in Parliament.

succession of nov«U remarkable for their pure tone, for their high

literary finis :hcirgcwal satire of social folly, Mr. McCarthy

suddenly surprised mon intimate and therefore most

expectant I v producing a •' History of Oui Owj> Tfc-

»hkh hot • success that for rapidity and extent it would be

difficult to parallel in the same class of literature. The tnetsbi

Longford is too recent an acquisition to the House (■ usivc

verdict to be passed upon his chances. He has spoken twice or

thrice, always briefly and to the point, i a grace of diction

and case of manner which sonic members who have grown

frey in the service of the State still lack. He has one faculty

upon any populoi ad is peculiarly

acceptable with audience like thai whicJb meets at West-

Bmttr. H inch as Mr. Coven, remembers even more,

ind it lingularly qukk ai teeing 4 congmity betwei a entrant

tCfics and things whii d Or clone or fauna 1 in times

pa. Nothing wins applause in the House of Common lily

thtt an apt illustration or a i nation. Mr. McCarthy has

y in these directions, and may be safely

coated upon some day to win a sudden and permanent success.

These gentlemen have in one form or another seriously worked
in the field of journalism and literature. But to a singularly
l«|c number of n of the House of Commons have

fcetn too narrow for their philanthropic or patriotic impulse to make
to world better by tb ion of their thought*. In reviewing

the present House the distinction rather lies with the man who has
W published than with the man who has. The - % of the

l«i| autumn recess suggest s to . tmberol legislators, wearied

•eh the labour of the session, tm recreative delights of travel. What
htt strongly moved them they regard as likely t m equal

"prcwion on i1 fence they write books, and there tie

H noting • t" publish them. Thus Mr, Kavanagh hal

*l the story of t.V !Evt>;HSirJ.H.Kenn the

SlSfca t war, and writes a book '" t >n Sherman's

Tbkck;" and Mr. I'.. J. Reed, jusi to Japan, is

sb» engaged upon a work describing his experiences. Mr. Rem

■est claims to be considered individually as a man of lei
kvgan to make as a public man while editor of a sci< !l

ougazinc, and is still editor of a quarterly review dealing specially
• lie has written various works

raJ matters, and hi cms to the corresponds

umn» uf tlie Timet are voluminous and interesting. Captain
,n lias drawn a glowing /picture of " The Gate of v\\c

The GentUmari s Magazine.

to the United

I'acifu: ; " So Inward Watkin h.v i ] ■ to i

States and Can.; i 1 1. aiy Wolfi, long before he went out a*

British Cumini.. Buiern Roun

■■ The Ri
ie>, lias travelled much) and baa given hia impressions oi
': i a succession of books ; Si I leoi ge Campbell has just

published a work, the result of an autumn visit to the utcs ;

also written a good deal on the Eastern Question. Mr i
Cochrane has described " '1 rles Dilkfl has

mitten a rtandsidwoxkon "Great Mr. Elba E

the late member for the Mint district, disc< mote island

of Man, detailed his < th as much mil

as much freshness as Sir George Nares managed to put into his
account of the \
There were hi
: McCsrtii
< • li: th has pro.

in additi H I rial bj | I Lionel

Jervis has written a "History <>i" Corfu and the Ionian Is!
Long ago Mr. Roebuck s "History of the Whig N

of 1830." Mr fame as

tion Walk established it on a firmer

basis by ; i| in-, ancle, I I Mi Masse]

written a •• Ristorj nd ondei III."

Poets an- not nn ibers I.

hewed poetry, thou
n couplet own:; thorship which is likely to l

those inti
In n time we have Mr. II. It.

faintly owns & tittle I "Sl Lm

latum of lyrics of l md Mr. \

guished the year of his mayoralty I omi

question

y and th Mr.

lowthiau Bell has discussed, with
mena of i
that ,'

the production
-cd " P01
Charli Recorder nf London, has prodi

ation as his ip 'ar questions.

Men of in Parliament.

Gcocge Eliot has spec '. On the Duration of our Coal Supply.''

proved his versatility by writing on the diverse
ns of the " Repeal of the Malt Tax" and "Union of Chi

Mr. Goechei icory of Foreign

Mr. John Holms is a well-known critic of araiy ad-
ministration. Mr. I. G. Hubbard has endeavoured to preserve for all
tmt the gist of many speeches delivered to not va on

irae tax and the currency questions. Sir U. Kay-Shuttlewortb
i Principles of Modern <

mart." Mr. John Locke has produced a "Treatise on the Game
Lord Robert Montague, before I moved to write on

Question, points connected i

ami architecture ; and Mr O'Donnell has exhibited some " I

ifr. Adam I to thoughts

oa "Tat Pol ave nothing to do with the

prwpcct of paying the Conservatives off in the next ele I

ion of trade policy. Mr. Hourkc has discoursed on
Parfume ntary Preeei tag those of worrying an

.'tder Foreign Secretary with inconvenient and incessant qn

ten a " Memoir of Joseph Sturgc " before
loci- eminent of the world had en-

grosied Mr. ! duced two little works, one on "The

and the other on "The Mission of the
Torrens has on several o<< >wn

that if he had not i ble though some-

it lugubrious Parliamentary orator he would have been a great
tine, generally at intervals of twelve months,
there appear notices in the to the effect that " Mr. McCulhgb

Torren I upon" a book of memoirs— usually Lord

Mdboume'v In the mean time he lias actually written the life of
Shid and that <>i sir James Graham, and 1 En the pn

toople of volume* ot ketches of Wellesley and O'Conncll,

the taking title " Pro-Consul and

mis reasons th rative success or non-success of

: the general que ition I" n
to whether men who have distinguished them

:o have subsequently ol in the House,

based on I :ion.

ipportunity of studying the
as Dickn My. They, judging for them.

I, and doubtless wisely, always turned a deaf ear to pro.
should enter Psrlisment Lord MacauUy perYia\»

"fcrl

(pan

p ■-■:

Chore

The GetUleman's Magazine.

maintained his personal position when he took his seat in the House.
At least, his speeches excited a gratifying amount'of attention, and they
were in the main successful. But it is straining the use of language
to call them speeches. They were really carefully prepared es
and Macaular, having :i magnificent memory, was able to
them without a hitch. Macau , I believe, that

the House of Commons is no place for a man of letters.
dentally he supplies some i I ©I Mhil .ne of

his letters, when that peculiar quality <>( the Hon

of Commons — its way of picking out a pan nan and •

"we will listen tu him" — which ran only be felt and may not be
fully :li ' v.ln 1. •• It is ;> " in which I would not

any man. I have great d
Jeffrey. It is the n I

s.iy tii Ts being a good writer, a good orator :u the Bar, a

good mob orat. orator in debating dttl •her

reason foi g him to I. il than for expecting him to sue- 1

the House of Common;. A place where Walpolc succeeded
Addison failed — wh< las succeeded and Burke failed— whe

Peel now succeeds and where Mackintosh fails— where Erskine and
Scarlett were dinne) where Lawrence and JekyD, t he two

wittiest men, or nearly so, of their time, were thought boo
surely a very strange place."

What the House was in Macaulay . this respect,

remains still. Its judgment of a mai n is based on un-

written and often ii laws, 'i it rejects over-

tures for its favour supplies no proof ti .-son snubbed is not

learned or loveable, wise Ot • i!Ut that a man she

accep' 'inmons i> on. ighast

hoDOi.: bestowal is absoJu:

wealth, nor rank, i

I ; and a mar

■d his speech po'.i
bene';

man who somctin
worked in a mine, who

school, who t. igue unknown i groomx,

int..:

fell i. i to

<; of Commons by

SOME AUSTRALIAN CAPITALS.

ASTRALIANS complain, good-naturedlycnough without doubt,
but with unimpeachable reason, that their country is little under-
stood i! day I receive, in Queensland, letters and
rvnr>|Ki|>tTs addressed " Brisbane, South Australia; "and if the officials
General Pea* Offices is the nan Colonies published

their hands in l ■<■■ of any

mail delivery during the year, both amazing and amusing

them f geographical ignot Iriend*

A wealthy Australian, in the awn is mind,

be a man who has roughed it at some gold-diggings. The

notions exist as to what is a squatter. That he has had

to do with squatting pursuits is pretty clear on the face of

tats, how he squats, what he squ.u-. are iiiMii-

mwmt.i lenu.

'.stralians are looking forward to their
tag-deferred hopes of a beta ng bearing fruit, though,

lie »h .1 sly laugh -hould be

"te more to * successful sculler, and victorious cricketing team,
fcn to the thousands of works which I i written to pn

and that Ballaxat and
Mtors i with each other, or with

New 2 I from •■■■

ome. The Paris Exl of 1878 had something

live Colonii - there
*"ttn: I, as well as Contin.

inserted in
idmission: — •• I
' and his friends smiled, and told
o»li nan.

has extended to the antipodes.
each decided upon
niaoRal thnw. atonceind ree of independence

-
toe, '• '.' I icen better if these Colonies, separated otvei\

The Gentleman's Magazine.

from each other by nothing but an imaginary boundary, ha<
centated tli< :ir united energies into one supreme effort ? To the
thinking of many, it would have been better, decidedly better; but
the da] il yi t to dawn when the federation of sympathy which
common interests arc strengthening every day will dcvclopc into
federation that shall be practical. That day must come sooner or
later, and il may come more suddenly than just now seems possible.
The fact, nevertheless, remains, that the Australian Colonics maintain
their stand-offish attitudes towards each other, hedge themselves
apart by vexatious tariffs, and, in a manner they will by-ai
wonder at, emulate the state of things once thought worthy of remark
■.vith respect to the Jews and the Samaritans. Under thi K I ircum-
stances, separate Exhibitions must be accepted as a matter of court*.

First in the field, as seniority, if nothing else demanded, comes
Sydney, the metropolis of the mother Colony of New South Wales.
Its Exhibition will be open in September, and it will no doubt Ik-,
mill the Colonial standpoint, a brilliant success. All the indication*

such a result are already apparent ; to wit, promise of a good
■how, and, what is more to the purpose, of crowds of sight-seers from
all parts of the world. It is in the latter consideration I have con-
ceived the hope that a few pages devoted to I desi ription (necessarily,
rii.i; •-, superficial) of the Australian capitals, will not be space wasted.

To Australians Sydney has the flavour of a certain antiquity. It
is the pares) city Of all Australian towns, and would probably be the
ii looting by a foreign invader. Its streets and their
affic ; the rOOtty comfortable carriages and demure liveries to be
seen at the shop-doors; the advertisement columns of the newspapers,
all speak of substantial wealth, gradually made and securely held.
There is an old-fashioned air about the place not to be looser-,
other Colonics ; and this suggests hesitation in making changes,
though changes, in the direction of improvement, arc being made.
Yel, strange as it may seem for the capital of the wealthiest Colo

ilia, the corporation 01 in the first quarter of 1879,

had to acknowledge itself bankrupt.

Coming to Sydney from Ix>ndon or the larger provincial cities of
the British Empire, the visitor must not expect too much ; mast not
forget that onlj runet;, years ago the spindle-shanked savages of the
country gathered on the beach and defied Captain Philip and his
fleet of convict and stone ships, and that even so recently as the last
ih Reform agitation a" Botaiiy Bay vien ofaffi enxd

an applicable description to introduce into a House of Commons de-
bate. Sydney, at least, must not be measured by a home standard, if the

So/tie Australian Capitals. 49

measurement is to be a fair one This may seem k of

apology ; in truth, it docs. The streets of Sydney are all too narrow,
and ihc fashion in which its founders began their work will be a
perpetual reason why it cannot be made a beautiful city. There are
mujrfine buildings, the houses of business and factories arc thriving;
moreover, Sydney has the advantage of being the one great seaport of
the Colony. But, as a city, its boast must be of solid comfortable
pwsperhy rather than of exterior magnificence.

icy Harbour, however, is unique. The people will grant you
mfined thoroughfares, and a good deal else into the bargain,
» that you give them their harbour. It is unquestionably of sur-
passing beauty. The inhabitants are in it blessed with a most
precious gift. The price of wool may decline, as it has an ugly
habit of doing now and then ; drought or flood may come, as it does
»h;n least wanted or expected ; but nothing, not even the irre-
presblc Chinese question, can rob them of this inestimable privilege,
They hive the clear fresh sea at their very doors. In half-an-hour
they may be sailing in K harbour of a thousand bays, each complete
a itself, and exquisite in its surroundings of hill, rock, wood, and
picturesque residence. Yellow sands ever invite them forth for
treninj strolls and moonlight rambles. On my first visit to Sydney,
anumber of young gentlemen kindly made me one of their party
no board a fieet bttlc steam launch, and took me to a water -picnic
We steamed out of the harbour proper, up an arm known as Middle
Harbour, and it was a trip of prolonged delight. We steamed
aWad several miles, until the hills blocked our course, and the craft
topped perforce in a few inches of water. It was a reproduction of
good Scottish loch scenery, only in place of purple heather on the
awonuins there stood densely-growing eucalypti ; each land-locked
expanse of water had its own rocky headland, cove, and beach, in
armature. The day «a$ a public holiday, and the harbeui was
MeraHy ab\e with ex oats — from the ocean-going steamship

to small spitfires, like our own of", say, ten-dog- power.

The September of Australia, it must be borne in mind, will not
he tie September of England. Its ork of supererogation to

mke the statement. Does not every schoolboy know that in
frlHlllia the world is upside down ? Nevertheless, the surprise
coates, h takes years to get over the incongruity of a midsummer
Qristnm In the September spring-time, the nights and mornings
*"e cool, but the sun towards the middle of the day becomes very
hot,a&d in October a fair sample of Australian heat may, under
•deary circumstances, be experienced. The stranger will, in

m. ccxtv. ho. 1783. £

5©

The Gentleman s Magazine.

November and December, and, if he have common fortune, even in
October, make the acquaintance of the mosquito, and find his
patience most unmistakably tried. Hot winds and thunderstorms,
too, may be expo ted, though only occasionally, and not to the
extent which marks the autumn months of February and U
The new-comer may, however, afford to smile at these novelties, and
will probably consider the skies of Italian blue and the absolute
sunshine more than a set-off against the heat.

Each Colony has its peculiarity of climate in non-essential matters ;
but it may be said of the Australian climate, as a whole, that it is
right pleasant. In Melbourne and Sydney the hot winds and sudden
changes are vexatious while they last ; and in Brisbane, where there
are no hot winds, you may, at the worst, complain loudly of the
great heat ; but these drawbacks do not last for ever, and they leave
a preponderating pet . ..ntage of days in the year when you may
calculate with certainty upon unclouded weather, dry elastic atmo-
sphere, and some period of the day, at any rate, when it feeU good
to be alive. Vet perhaps it is, after all, a question of taste, I'or
:. I would not exchange the sweet mellow autumn mornings of
in- old country — the ripening September sun, and the grave October
tO0Cbes Of COlOQI — fur anything the world can offer in exchange, Hut
I can understand that thousands of my fellow i ouutrymen would
deem escape from chilling rains, November fogs, easterly winter
and a "green " Christmas, as not the least of the excuses they
seek for vi dting the Australian Exhibitions. They will have read the
customary comparisons between the Colonies and Madeira, Naples,
Nice, and Southern Prance ; they will find that it is a resemblance
only in theory, and that the Australian climate is Australian, and
nothing else ; and that it is so enjoyable that it need not pretend to
be other than it is.

The public gardens Of Sydney may almost be classed with the
harbour, for beauty and utility. The inhabitants spend a great deal
of their leisure time in the Domain and Botanic < lardcns. The latter
are rich in tropical and subtropical trees and shrubs ; but dearer than
scientific ra th< English flowers, reminding the transplanted

hman of the old home ; and growing, many of them, with a
luxuriance never attained there. The gardens arc highly favoured by
situation, and the configuration of the ground ; the waves of tlw
harbour break upon its boundary walls ; while the natural undulations
Of the ground and presence of rock and grotto have been avail
to form many a shady nook. The suburbs of Sydney arc grow i
beauty, and, like the city itself, give evidence of substantial s.

lial wcaJih,

Some Australian Capitals.

iod 1 certain soberness of living, not unplcasing to English eyes.
Grot pride is being taken in the cultivation of English flowers,
sbntfx, and umbrageous trees ; and attempts have been made,
•rita partial success, to acclimatise larks and other English singing
Wi Up the Paramatta River the finest orangeries in the Colonies
flourish. There arc many excursions to interesting spots on the
rout which may be compassed in the course of a day ; and if the
«wor care* for gorgeous mountain scenery, he can obtain it by
Baking a trip up the famous zigzag railway into the Blue Mountains.
Sydney, as if conscious of the narrowness of its Streets and imperfect
ttqgn, makes amends wherever possible by surrounding its public
Wdinp with open grounds and shrubberies. It may be added, that
the tendency to live out of town limits the accommodation for mere
sojourners to such an extent that arrangements have been made for
cenvtrting large steamers into floating hotels during the Inhibition.

Melbourne oIodc, of Australian capitals, may be measured by an
oH-coontry standard without suffering in comparison. As it stands,
* it a grand city ; witnessed in the light of its history, it is wonderful.
More than any other town, the capital of Victoria may be termed the
Colony itself. New South Wales has its Liverpool Plains, Rivcrina,
1 id ; Queensland its tropical north land, and its rich
back country, vast as a large European kingdom ; Victoria has
Melbourne. Trollope, in his book upon the Colonies— for which
••ay colonials will never forgive him, but which, take it all in all,
ike visitor may accept at the best guide at his disposal — advises the
Australian!* not to " blow." As a rule, the advice is wholesome any-
•here ; yet a Victorian has a right to " blow " about Melbourne, just
it the New South Welshman has a right to "blow" about Sydney
Harbour; the Quccnslander about the magnificent resources of his
Colony; and the South Australian about his wheat, and in a minor
r, bis wine; Bet, foremost, let the Victorian have his "blow"

Melbourne.
Melbourne is gay. The Melbourne native prides himself upon the
' English character of his city, but in truth there is just a
of Americanism perceptible. The sober Englishman, sur>
«}iog the scene from the grand stand on a Melbourne Derby
oty, or promenading Collins Street or Bourkc Street in the after
aooas, when the representatives of the leisure classes are, as it is
holly termed, " doing the block," would probably imagine that Mel-
■Bame»asavery"<ast"cit>. The dresses of some of the ladies who
"had the fashions " may be apt to run to extrerm after

Ik manner of a New York girl hot from a Continental scamper ; but

52 The Gentleman's Ma

there is .1 brightness in the place and sky th.it will admit of plenty cm
dressing, and invites it, and the fastness, as yet at any rate, is only
upon the surface. The wonder is, that in a Colony whose aristocracy
is one of wealth pure and simple, the ostentation should not be
greater. What there is of literature, art, drama, and music in Aus-
tralia has its head-quarters at Melbourne. It has the finest Free
Library, the best theatres and concert lulls. Its people are pleasure-
loving, and provide themselves with the highest amusement* within
their reach ; in work, a.s in play, they believe in briskness. A b*»A
jidt Melbourne m.m would consider residence in any other Australian
capital banish men i.

The fathers of Melbourne <t in their generation than

those of Sydney and Brisbane. Like the founders of Adelaide, they

planned their city well, insisting upon broad thoroughfares and plenty

paces, and jealously guarding them even when building

icnts in the principal streets fetched ^300 per foot. The city
was built on the square, with magnificent main thoroughfares, and

1 trccts running parallel, doing good duty as reliefs. Large
tea being established as a principle, a liberal supply of lungs was

Jded, so that you may walk six miles diagonally through Mel-
bourne and at no time be more than a couple of hundred yards from
some sort of public garden, shrubbery, or reserve. Many of the
public edii:. illy handsome; others within and without are

garish ; but the beauty of Melbourne city Springs from a uniformity

tehness in architecture and the fine fresh distances. \
1853 it was a community of weather-boards and canvas. In all parts
01 the Australias you meet with men who enthusiastically recall the

lit tunes when they dwelt in tents and made fortunes in the
cm the Iwmks of the little roiling Yarra Yamu The mis-
cellaneous man who could turn his hand to anything was here in
clover. Then, as always in the Colonics, an industrious Jack-of-all-
trades found himself in his right place. One of the most prosperous
of modern Australian ironmongers landed in Victoria in those times.
At home he had been a wholesale warehouseman ; in Melbourne he
looked about him, and went into the buiincss of a plumber, of which
he knew next to DOtl hilc he was picking up the

rudiments, brought him a pound a day wages.

In Melbourne King People rules, and the visitor who is a poli-
tician may ty points whit!

a statement will raise. Apart fro: ical aspect, howcv

may profitably investigate the condition ol the working dosses of
Melbourne. They arc the owners of some of the suburbs. An

Some Australian Capitals. 53

acowjiatancc of mine, wishing to rent .1 pretty suburban residence the
other day, sought the landlord, and Grand him working
m a timber yard. I could mention one building society out of many
which his lent over a million of money, chiefly to working men.
U* thickly populated suburbs of East Collingwood, Prahnua,
Hottuoi, Emerald Mill, and Carlton arc largely owned by working
men They are the Victorian democracy of whom so much has of
hie been heard; not, however, to be classed with the " unwashed " of
Otfttrtwds, nor even to be called " the residuum ; " they arc wcll-to-
domdiuduals. who have organised themselves into a formidable con-
gg power. In the heat of political strife hard words are natural;
hot to apply the term "'mob" or "rabble" to such working men as
I fare seen in Melbourne would be libel. They have comfortable
hunts; they may be seen quietly reading in the magniftfwnl Free
limy, in the acclimatisation grounds in the Royal Park, under the
das, poplars, and pines of Carlton ( Jardcns, in the cricket grounds
« Richmond or Albert Parks, in the trains running down to the
Siadridgc shipping, and enjoying the practice of some of the
•ntntccn rowing clubs, whose boats make a brave muster at the
apttts. I doubt whether there is any city in the world where the
•using classes arc so prosperous as in Melbourne. Tint there is a
Knout question beneath, the recent visit of the Victorian embassy to
utwiuag Street shows. I pass it by, merely observing that a gentlc-
a» to whom I was expressing admiration of the apparent comfort
rf the working classes in Melbourne, said : " Ay ; protection makes
•haa prosperous ; prosperity makes them bumptious ; and there
*>Mbr a smash by -and -by ! " I am no logician ; but I know that
^* represents a very widespread opinion amongst the Melbourne
Bstrdiant-class.

The landscape surroundings of Melbourne are poor. At Saint

JvJlda and Brighton by the seaside, and Hawthorn, Kew, and Terac

°»i the Yarra — all suburbs inhabited by the wealthier people — there

*»tlne residences and prettily cultivated grounds, and for a summer

**SQT»tng ride the dairy farms of Heidelberg and the market gardens

^Cheltenham arc an agreeable contrast to pretentious villa and

^w»ded city centre. Farther afield, five-and-twenty miles from

*«n, into genuine Victorian bush, there is Fem Tree Gully, with its

Vad tree ferns ; up the railway line will be found the Australian

•Alone scenery of Heaksvulc, Fcrnshaw, and Wood's Point, the

h«w with its mountain gold-field which was fabulously wealthy for a

*«, and which in its dream of permanent gold erected stone

hidings which are now well-nigh deserted. I know a miner from

54 The Gentleman 's Afagasint.

this field who went 40 Melbourne for a M spell," and, atB
the Bank one morning, was accosted by the manager with—

" Ah ! good morning. I don't know « lu-ther you I
but there i ten thousand pa g here for you

than .1

knocked the ash from bis cigar, and said, "No. I heard
nothing about it. I ■'pose it's all right. Chalk it up."

His mates. workk im up in the mountain, had forwarded

him the amour the proceed! durin

That was in the goM (Ban is likely enough ipbiting

or driving B milk cut ROW.

The Vara Yaria below the city is an offensive flow of imps
bo! Sir John Coodc has given the Victorian a scheme of recta:
Which will improve the river and the low marshy land b-
The upper reaches of die river arc pirn elks to the willows,

whose parent tree grew from a cut: an Ameri m ship

from Napoleon's tomb at St. Hel

To see the most of Australia, the return voyage should be by the
Tom Mail from Sydney ine, up the Queea

. .md through the islands of the tropical seas to Singapore.
Coasting in Australia is admirably performed. No two Colonics are
yet connected by railways ; but ovcrlanding may be achieved, at
the cost of considerable time, money, and physical endurance,
combination of railway train and coaclu The open ocean, howe

It highway of Australian traffic, and it is navigated by splendid
steamships, regularly and ig comfort :nd safety.

The Australian Steam Navigation Company i< the Peninsular and
Oriental of the eastern coast, and A have reason I

proud <'i its Beet south with the Melbourne "

Company, and i ealand with the Uni

long the
eastern coast of An id thence to China

portion of the animation i ;, you rarely hear of accidents. I lie
Easter i istralian Company's boats perform the Torres Strait*

t who decides upon returning from Sydney
by that Ton ingapore, will ban bo reason to complain of the

accommodation provided for him. islands and

coast of tTOp ie finest ipe York

and A valuta se.v.
seldom more than thirty fa of sight of so

island.

banc, the \ustralian capitals, has not yet

Some Australian Capitals. 55

attained its major!' : will take longer to mature than did

Sydney or Melbourne The first was formed under tin
mgof the Knglish Government, and began with whatever advan-
tage* belong to a garrison town. Thcsccond sprang out oftbe

is and weatherboard era had collected as many inhabit-
ants as Brisbane possessed when it was fifteen years old.
too, has four rivals along the Queensland coast, namely, Rockhampton,
Townsvillc, Bo wen, and Maryborough, and other ports are f< »
rther north. The original promoters of separation

led to make the Clarence River the southern Inn:
uarcation; and had th. I ma. Hti-.Um.-

would have ItOOd UpOO a centra! ; he coast- It was d< i

of die new Colony was *

reuse lower end of a coast-line of from two to three thousand
j, rendering the establishment of ports, oountxy

became occupied, an unquestioned necessity.

In its present condition of development Brisbane is a fair
example of what Sydney and Melbourne were in their transition
between the chrysalis and butterlly State : ude by side with the thrcc-
1, ornate, stone-carved, beporticoed insurance office or bank,
may still be seen the shed of galvanised iron or humble wooden
atonr. In any but the main street, the footpaths are, to say the tea 1,
diversified in character ; the suburbs are as yet innocent of gas ;
everywhere the architecture is composite, and extremely simple
Vet the city, like the Colony of whit h it is die capital, is making
enormous strides every year, and, as the development goes on, the
rough ■ nd the crooked straight When it

ercd that Brisbane has had no gold rush to give il

• lbournc, and that its geographical position forbade

:.eonc unrivalled outlet for the Colony, like Sydney ; when

ibercd that middle-aged inhabitants have shot snipe, and

keen bullock drays bogged where the heart of the city now lies, it

goes without saying that Brisbane is a remarkably lusty yOUthwidi

a magnificent manhood l>efore it.

The ich is about ten miles away from the mouth of the

fine river from a reads from the wharfages

lie high ground, and upon the hills, whit h arrest the sea brce.-cs
at tiie earliest moment and afford at all times a maximum of coolness.
The Brisbane b I stream, serpentine in its course, and its

apparently landlocked expanse* improve in appearance as the ascent
it made ; the land becomes highi 1 nountain ranges appear in

the distance, and the uncleared and half-cleared bush gives plft

The Gentleman's Magazine.

clean cultivation, patches cf maize, groves of banana?, and
mental gardens.

The situation of Brisbane is its chief charm, and prospective
advantage. If it had been laid out upon some definite plan, like
Melbourne and Adelaide, and had not been allowed to grow pro-
mise ii'msly, it would have been a place of rare beauty, as no doubt
it will he in a few years. It is strange that cities no near the tropks
U Sydney and Brisbane should not have introduced shade trees into
their thoroughfares. It is strange, of course, that there should be any
city or town in Australia without its Boulevards, if only for orna-
mental purposes, seeing that land is abundant, and the climate
peculiarly favourable for the growth of suitable and even uncommon
trees. But that the semi-tropical and tropical towns should be
without their leafy street avenues, from reasons of utility as well as
ornament, is strangest of alL Yet so it is,

From the higher points of Brisbane there arc superb views of
country, bounded by picturesque mountains ; from a friend's verandah
upon such a point I have often looked with speechless admiration
over a panorama of city, river, forest, and mountain, changing under
the lovely sunset tints of blue and violet that always appeal when
the weather i.% westerly and fine, until it faded, dreamlike, into the
purple base that is seen 10 such perfection in Australia, I torn
other bills glimpses of lake-like reaches of the rive: ippear, and
elsewhere charming bird's-eye views of the city are obtainable. The
river, therefore, enters largely into a consideration of Brisbane, which,
as a fact. ;. Pleasant bush drives may be had in any did

tion, and wkbina fiffl miles of the General Post Office there arc
sugar mills and arrowroot factories in OpCttl

e of the finest prospects I have ever seen was from ;in en
nence on the spur of a range within four miles of Brisbane. It was
a bright summer afternoon, and grateful was it to leave the high
road and ride up the steep bridle path in the bush. Complete
silence reigned in the wooded solitude of the ridge, from .
through openings in the gum-trees, the lower world would occasion-
alls present itself, simmering under a sweltering heat The goal was
a clearing on the scarp of a mountain spur, to be reached only on foot
or horseback, and from it the town of Ipswich, twenty miles distant,
could lie descried, a white shining mass. All the intervening country
lay open to view. In another direction the blue sea glittered, and
Moreton Island lay upon it Uke a cloud. For once the gum-trees,
looked upon from above, and seen therefore with imperfections
hidden, added to the beauty of the scene. For leagues and leagues

Sonic Australian Capitals. 57

the fiill-bosonied hills were crowned with wood. The broad river,
■inch gladdens the city and invites it on to greatness, wound round
a badred tongues of land ; lost to sight for a while, it would reappear
lit a cord of silver entangled amongst the trees. Cultivated belts
atonjitt margin were level tad smiling i:i their bright green, 1-ar
ibt, still progressing to the sea, you might follow the wimlin.
tie river, and in the wonderfully clear .atmosphere they ttW tabled ■
mcenon of white terraces set it unequal di the one above

the other. It was a noble picture, and I have seen many such in
Queensland.

The case with which building allotments can be obtained in the
outskirts of Brisbane has had the effect of imparting to it B very
•Higgling character. A working man can buy a small square of
ground for twenty pounds, and less j it is too small for sanitary fair-
pby, but it will be his own. So, he becomes a landowner, and puts
>.b shanty or a tent at first, and lives there until he can replace
it »hfc a wooden cottage. The styles of the architecture arc amusing
•onetimes, and as widely differing as the poles. The warm climate
sables people to live out of doors the major part of the year, and
the buildings arc therefore of the flimsiest. I have seen a suburban
residence constructed of beaten-out kevmine tins; another like a
•entry's box. Upon hills great and small, on the slopes of gullies,
or in the bush, more resembling a temporary encampment than a
femxnent suburb, these humble freeholds attract the attention of
tie passer-by, and, as the reader will perceive, do not improve the
general appearance of the place. Brisbane, in consequence of this
FecuGarky, extends over a wide area, and seldom obtains the credit
it deserves.

Above its sister capitals Brisbane probably best meets the
•anger's idea of a Colonial town. In its steady, practical progress
it ha* not yet had time to put on airs, or be pretentious. The
erects, buildings, and people, in their respective ways, inform you
that hitherto they have been content to walk before they run.
There is no public market-place, and no theatre worthy of the name.
Bw there are three large public buildings now in course of erection
-J Museum, Telegraph-office, and Supreme Court. Hitherto the
Brafe: .eerfully put up with makeshifts. The day of

anke-shifu, however, has Net. and public works and private enter-
prises arc being vigorously undertaken. Still Brisbane looks what it
•-Colonial — which cannot be said of either Melbourne or Sydney.
The wooden houses, with their inevitable verandahs, the hilching
Josti at the shop-doors, the prevalence of broad-brimmed hats,

5»

The Gentleman's Magazine.

moleskin brocks, and riding boots in the streets, the passing
farmer, with wife and children perched a-top of the prodiu r, Bald
you feel that you are undoubtedly in Australia.

In one thing Brisbane excels. It bu the most sensible Parlia-
ment buildings of all the Colonies— handsome and elegant, without
the overdone omateness of the Melbourne Chambers, and unpre-
tentious, without the poverty-stricken appearance of the Sydney
Houses of legislature. Its Acclimatisation grounds and Botanic
Hardens — the first maintained with praiseworthy perseverance by a
private society, and the second a Government reserve — have the
advantage of being able to grow many tropical rarities that have no
chance of life farther south. On the whole, Brisbane always seem*
to agreeably disappoint the stranger, and well it might. It is a
homely city, none the worse because it is in fashionable pretensions
behind Sydney, in the same ratio .is Sydney is behind Melbourne.
U lien the summer is showery, as thi I of 1S78-9 has been,

no 01 use to say that Brisbane is not a pleasant place, and of

its healthiness at all times there is no question.

Of Adelaide I am unable to say anything from personal know-
ledge ; but those who hive visited it, especially in the spring and
autumn, are entranced with the beauty of its parks, wide, straight
streets, and the distant mountains, which bound the horizon some
eight or ten miles from the city. It is no uncommon thing to hear
gentlemen who arc well acquainted with all the Australian towns
give Adelaide in many tespet '- priority of preference.

Although T.iMnania is divided from Australia by Bass'* Strait*,
it may still, for the purposes of this article, be considered part and
parcel of the great island-continent. The visitor to Australia

mid go to Tasmania, and, if possible. New Zealand. With New
Zealand I do not propose at the present time to meddle ; but a
glance at Hohaxt Town may well tome within the compass of a
description of some of the Australian capitals. There is a regular
and comfortable steam service from Sydney to Mohan Town direct ;
and there is another service from Melbourne to I.-tunccston, which
affords the traveller an opportunity of journeying by rail from north to
south of Tasmania.

Hobart Town is a delightful little metropolis. Its harbour
almost as beautiful as that of Sydney, save that the hills and pr
montorici arc not so freely studded with picturesque resideiu
navy could safely ride in the estuary of the Derwent, and nothin
can exceed the harmonious conjunction of its promontories
bays, and stately background of wooded hill.; and mountain
Hohut Town itself is a clean, quiet city, with good streets, substa

hto

Some Australian Capitals. 59

tial houses, and English-looking In lower gardens \ and il is

magniln entry situated, Dot only because it is built on the edge of a
deligh! mid it rises, keeping

unceasing watch and nrd, the pant of these puts, Mount Welling-

od in perl. enos absolutely

big fellow mixes himself up in all the public
and private concerns of the place. The inhabitants cannot shake
him off. 1 in what direction they choose, somehow

that is the eye of Mount Wellington upon them. Indeed, you
might almost imagine that the mood of Hobait Town depends not a
little upon the mood of the mountain. When the summit is swathed
in folds of cloud, it seems hushed; vbl leifl holding all

the sunshine it cam , and flashing it back again, il it glad ; when
I on an extra mande of snow, it is felt to be winter. Hobart
Town, and indeed the whole of Tasmania, maybe said to be the
garden of Australia. All English fruits grow luxuriantly, and the
English trees an may well make the

Englishm hat he is at boo

The club is necesaarilv an institution greatly favoured in the
Colonic*. The squatter coming down from the station prefers the
club to the hotel, which is too often a place of cnteit.iiunient ad-
mitting of enormous improvement. He knows that m its dining
and smoking rooms, and in the lounging chairs of its verandahs, he
will meet his brother pastoralist and the merchants and bankers
residing in the town, or, like himself, birds of passage It, to a great
:es die place of the or exchange. It 1-. the

haunt of merchants and politicians, and, generally speaking, of n» ll

Esrho know what ng in the world. In \l ehib life

late* to t:i fleas mud a En Sydney, the

ir club, and the younger generation theirs.
qua tiers' club, and a club chiefly managed
by the heads of departments in the civil service and DTDtessioatJ
he only two clubs sacTcd to the wants of literary men,
journalists, and Bohemians proper, are the Yorick club in Mel-
bourne, which has acquired a handsome property of its own ; and
the Johnsonian club in Brisbane, which has been recently established
hi the ence, and the drama. The news-

papers of the Colonics are admirably conducted ; -ind some of the
; nals, such as the Australasian in Melbourne, the .!/..•■■
'■ten and Country Journal in Sydney, the QuttntkauUr and
Wtck in Brisbane, are as much magazine as newspaper, and deserve
large circulation they obtain.

REDSMSWY.*..

The Gentleman's Magazine.

THE COMEDIE FRAN^AISE AND
MONSIEUR ZOLA.

AS far .is Eoglnh authorship is concerned, the theatrical season,
now coming to a close, has been distinguished by failure. It
is tnic that Mr. Godfrey, the author of Mai, has written a piece not
unworthy of his promise ; and written it in the crisp tone which was
pleasant in that earlier comedy. Mr. Valentine Prinsep, too— by
way of exercising his skill in an art other than his own — by way of
holding his rank in that new Renaissance of ours ; one of whose
"notes" it is to demand diversity, quite as much as excelli (l
Dt — has brought out a comedietta fairly fitted for the
actors of charades, to whose care he committed it Thi D agon, Mr.
Byron, at the Vaudeville, is probably on the road to ncces with
The Girls : he has filled the piece with what are about the smartest
sayings now to be heard in London. But, on the whole, the season
has been failure for authorship. Mr. Wills is a poet, and he has often
had some difficulty in being a playwright. Mr. Gilbert is a play-
wright, who has had some difficulty in being a poet.

We have turned then, and had need to turn, more than ever to

France at a time which has given us on the English stage only one

thing completely worthy of remembering — the enlightened control of

St I-ondon theatre by our most considerable actor. We one

i h to Mr. Irving, and his management of the Lyceum is as full of

promise a* it is of performance. For the moment, lie has not offered
us much that is new, though much that is excellent. Most of what
has been hitherto unfamiliar to the London theatre-goer has come,
:!;r. year, from Pari*. The Come'die Franeaise in still in our
midst, giving us the piece that is old, and the piece that is new, and
the piece that is old .fashioned, because it is of yesterday instead of
to-day. And we have also— at the Princess's— our first taste of M.
Kmile Zola— the strong wine of M. Zola duly watered for the
beginner — the sensationalism that we do not refuse adroitly sub-
stituted for the crude truths we arc too squeamish to bear. And
with the advent of these things from France, and the welcome

The Comtdu FraupUu and Monsieur Zola. 6 1

them, we have been told that the entire superiority of the French
stage is loo granted — too foolish). .tely

allowed.

:o tlie Comedic Franchise, there is no doubt at all that London
Society lias erred on the side of exaggeration. Hut since when did
not society exaggerate the virtues of the thing it approved of? What
might have been a reasonable t.i come a mania, i

unlearned and the unpractised have always snatched at the celebrity
of a name : the many have followed with a too stupid unanimity
where the few have led. Moliere— unread yesterday — shares to .
the popularity of Hawley Smart and Miss Broughton. M Ldernoiselle
Sarah Bernhardt rouses the < Dt which, two or

three years . ilrj never have been felt It was reserved for

Rossi and Salvini in those day*: yet in thost .idt

was precisely as great a genius and precisely u accompuahed an

arti- Then there has been a difficult)

seating the latent converts toba talent— « discreet ■■election of the
means to insure a populai success lias had its reward ; and tin
would-be amateur, who lud often hurried through Paris to the
Engadine, without seeing Sarah Bernhardt for six-and-sixpence in the
Rue Richelieu, has clamoured to offer a couple Ol Set the

top of her bonnet, and nothing of her art, in the Strand. I n
doubtedly the rush of the moment tl MtOBS Ol B

folly. As you cannot see the art of Sarah Bcmhardl from the lasl
seat of the pit, or the hottest nook of the gallery, it is better not to
go into the theatre to force an cmo; b you lun tpw

tunity to feel. So much for the exaggerated effort to see, under
hoi jnditions, a delightful artist. It ts not the l> 1 way to

enjoy the excellence of the stage of France, nor to know wherein its
superior .1 A much more crushing evidence of the general

fineness of the art in France— its comparative poverty in Fngland —
b afforded by a e to L 'Auommoir at the Ambigu, and a

visit to Drink at the Princess's.

To begin wit essary to say of the work of M. Zola that

even in Paris, by transfer, to the stage.

the labour of a serious, though often a mistaken anist 111 literature,

■st great! Messrs. Busnach and (Jaslincau. As

tar as these gentlemen thought fit t<> alter it, it lost its balance, its

reasonableness, its Datura! sequence, and it became a big melodrama.

Tosecthat this was so. it is necessary to know the outline of its story,

or at all events the motive of the story — the gradual degradation of

the Parisian labouier and his family through drink. One Gervaise,

62 The Gentleman s Afagazitu.

a peasant girl of Aries, is utterly enamoured of tome gay scoun
Lanticr, a hat-maker, and comes with him to Paris, where she stay*
devoted to him wholly — of busy and frugal life and modest ambition.
He seeks other women, and especially a rival, "la grandc Virginie;"
comes back from her one morning, hardly to be upbraided by Ger-
vai.se, but on a trumpery pretext packs his trunk and leaves the
quiltwork girl who is faithful to him ; sends the key of their lodging to
her when she has gone to her work and he has emptied the room of
h» belongings and called a cab to tike him to Virginie for a more
lengthened sojourn. There follows in the novel the great scene of
the latvir, where the rivals meet : one crushed and maddened ; the
other hard and triumphant. They fall to upon each other with water
pails, brushes, and hands, and the "grandc Virginie," beating a retreat
at last, is made a permanent enemy. Gervaise recovers her head,
summons moral courage, and, quite alone, goes on her difficult way
of steady work and simple life in the town. Presently she accepts
one Coupeau. an honest mason ; lives with him in some fifth floor of
obscure Paris an almost idyllic life. A child is born to them ; they
work and plan for the child's future, heartily— steadfastly, in the light
French people's way. At last, however, a bad accident happens to
the man : he falls from a scaffolding, and is disabled for weeks. Then
the passion for drink, which he had hitherto never felt, comes to
bred of enforced idleness, the complete change in his life : then
confirmed by a half-voluntary idleness. He, too, drinks brandy, like
his fellows, at the sign of L' Assomtnoir. He is only very gradually,
\cry slowly degraded ; but the steps, though tardy, are entirely sure.
Gervaise struggles — bears up — earns money for both— keeps the child
decent. Hut the natural end will come. At last, her husband per-
fectly besotted, she too, in poverty, and after many privations, finds
the comfort of the bottle. For her, too, the brandy bottle is a " brave
god," and the vicious drink of /.'Assommoir "celestial liquor."
Coupeau dies of dtlirium tremens. Nana, the daughter, is in fair
training for the streets. Gervaise, weary and debauched, dies one
bitter night on the outer Boulevard.

They have changed this a good deal too much in the play —
even in the French play at the Ambigu. What happened naturally,
happened ttuly, in the novel, happens in the drama through the
Ions agency of the " grandc Virginie" It is she who encourages
or suffers the honest mason to mount the insecure scaffolding ; she
who pursues Coupeau and Gervaise with her evil acts, glories in their
degradation, and sends in Coupeau :s last hour— when there seemed
one chance left — a bottle of brandy in wilful secret substitution for

The Contddu Francaise and Monsieur Zola. 63

1 bottle of Bordeaux. So ii is that what was in the book a true
and elaborate though often painful and repulsive study — in which
the art of fiction preached a lesson with a power denied to the mere
■iridcr of statistics or platform furtherer of philanthropy — so it is
tint this good study becomes in part .1 vulgar melodrama, such as
nqght almost have been written without the aid of M. Zola's pene-
tration and his unfaltering plainness. In some respects— if of so
generally clever a roan and sagacious a writer as Mr. Charles Rcadc
it may be said without unseemliness — there arc yet stupider mistake-.
is the English version. To begin with, Ccrvaisc is actually married
to Ltntier when in the first scene she waits for his return in the
Darning. The change may make the play more visible to children —
or, to adopt a bitter jest Uic modern daughter may take her mother
to it with rather less apprehension — but the whole value of the study
rf animate Parisian lower-class life and promiscuous love is gone, or
■ danger to go. Then again, Coupeau, in Mr. Charles Reade's
wsian, drinks a little from the first — is half drunk on his wedding
day. And this removes all justification from the scene of the fall
km the scaffold— a scene admirable in Zola ; still reasonable though
wh far less of significance in the drama in France ; and now in
London reduced wholly to a sensation scene — the drink having begun
to do for Coupeau. already, wh it in the novel the accident v.. n to
he the natural means of initiating. Of Monsieur Zola's art, of his
pacing ret calm study of these pitiful fortune, you .see next to
nothing at the Prince ore. The play there owes its success

•o four things, of which not one, I think, is particularly worthy : the
backets full of water lunged and launched at each other by the
nrifcid young women in the laivir, the realism of the tumbling
sraflbld. the horrors of dtlirium Ira At. Warner depicts them,

and the rery competent, though still somewhat mild, translation of
the obscene slang of Belleville into the gutter language of Whkechapel
ad the Dials.

The acting, too, at the Princess's, point •■•, ith l'aris— aeon-

•ostTerjrmnch more marked than any you could find by starting a dis-
placing comparison between the ensemble at die Lyceum and the
nsemblcat the Gaiety in this favoured month, when the art <>l Mdllc.
Beafcanlt, the elegance of Dclaunay, the laugh of Mdlle. Jeanne
usurp the place generally consecrated to the pleasant
of Edward Terry and the graces and the "go" of Ik
Jchrist It has been written of Mis* Amy Roselle that she ex-
Wikd u unexpected dramatic power " as Gemise ; but why " unex-
ptctcd* it seems difficult to know, since Miss Roselle is an actress

64 TJu GaitUmatCs Magazin*.

who has never before had a chance afforded her which she has
not fully used. These things, of course, are in some measure
matters of opinion : it would be idle to expect us all to agree as to
the merits of a particular artist. But to some it will seem that Miss
kosellc, instead of showing, as Gervaise, any power we have a right
to call " unexpected," fails, for the first time, fully to satisfy those
who had some reason to expect satisfaction. Of course, as against
lene Petit — the Gervaise of the Ambigu— she is at a
tremendous disadvantage: the English actress has to create from her

filiation a type of which she can have no personal experience;
Madame He'lene Petit— one of the most sympathetic artists on the
French stage — has to depict a fellow-countrywoman, an otn-riire of
Paris, with whose life, gestures, tones, and daily wajs thi ivc

made herself familiar. Thus, perhaps, it is that, though the art of
Madame He'lene Petit is essentially poetical, while the art of Miss
Roscllc is essentially dramatic, Madame Hclcne Petit alone
presents the portrait of the French , and, even when site

begins to idealise, is still strangely near to facts— brings you bac*.
facts wholly by some rough or sharp and ready gesture of vulgar 1 i
which follows close on touches that reveal ]>octical nature and
poetical reverie. The comparison of course is one that, especi
when we remember the inevitable disadvantage at which the English
actress is placed, is made unwillingly by those who arc wont to
admire the vigour and the brightness of the acting of Miss Roscllc
— who know that when they count our inventive actresses they can

int her. and only three or four along with her, in tl: ate

days— but at a moment when the Theatre Erancais alon
high praise, and the gi CcUence of French art is overlooked

or il plainly that such a performance as that

of Madame Hcline Petit, in what is after all i re than a

sensation drama at the Ambigu, is one of a virtue hardlv to lie
imagined, either by Kt play at tl

or by crowding into tl uu

of Pari:. In her own way, the 1 1 it—

in her slow transit ivc gra< d a*

poetical as such a pai - be.

But it is by
alone that we should prop' if the object were to j i

exo the superiority, of I iretalion n of

classic drama or high-class comedy, but of rough or homely m

laracter of Goujet, the advoc.
and ilie friend of virtue: played at the Ambigu by an actor n

The Come'dit Fraiifaisc and Monsieur Zola. 65

i a type, at tbc Princess's it is played very heartily by Mr. William
Resold, whose volume of voice and outburst of convincing rhetoric
rettrthekss cannot succeed in placing before us a man, instead
of a mere creation of the sensation dramatist. Lantier, too —
Gausses first lover at the Ambigu, first husband at the Princess's
—it but a dim shadow of villany on the stage of London, in com-
panion »ith that substantial incarnation of thoroughly heartless vice
ngfauy presented at the Parisian theatre. Then afterwards there is
the C'oupeau, afterwards the friendly Mis Unties — other important
persoenges of the potent though repulsive story. We blame the
Fitnch continually for on big no character, no life, but their

on. Yet we have teen the dxtkson od M. Febrre in the Etrangtrt.
And *e have seen at the Princess's how hardly one person of the
cast of the Atsommoir presents to us any resemblance of the life
aid character of Paris. The interest of a rude excitement having
been substituted for that of a development of character through cir-
QisBtance, why — except for the chance of retaining the novel stage
effect of the lavoir and the water pails — invite us to suppose that
the scene passes in France in»tead of in But Ixindon ? A play by
Mr Reade can scarcely be without Stage ;irt. It will undoubtedly draw.
Beade*,it has the advantage of revolting death : and th.it draws always,
■bether presented by a Serious artist like Mr. Irving in the Bells, or
by Mdlle. Croirctte in the Sphinx, or now by Mr. W.irner. So
Dn*k will draw. lint to us it seems a pity that the process of adapt-
ation was "not carried farther, and greater veracity thereby attained.

Instead of criticising in great detail any one of the performances
of the Comedic Francaisc at a time when so many pieces have already
been produced — at a time, too, when what is really striking the public
» no longer the splendour of a single representation, but the excel-
lence of various ones — we do best to offer chiefly jottings on the
characteristics of actor or play. But first, there should be renum-
bered what has not yet been amply insisted upon — the several
encamxtances which make exceptional the performances now given at
8* Gaiety. There arc three or four points which mark these present
performances as somewhat different from those to be seen last month
■ Puis, or to be seen in Parir. next month again. First, the Comedic
Jnncatse has brought us all its good actors— with some of us indif-
fatst actor*— but has left several of its lud at home. Enroll'
the Theatre Francois are a good many names not honoured at all by
the pubficof France. The Theatre Francais has, so to speak, its
ssedmp academicians — its academicians who nevertheless decline to
nose. Of these hardly one has appeared in London. We have
tou ecu. ;$j. y

The Gentleman 's Magazine.

no player*

here players whose talent is on the wane, but there is no player i
the Gaiety whose talent has entirely decayed. Then again, as it has
been the aim to produce, during these limited weeks, the greatest
effect attainable, actors who arc rarely offered any but the best parts
in Paris, have here willingly played minor characters. Yet, again, it
is the custom in Paris that debutants, or almost debutants, shall essay
their strength in great parts, — in those test parts by which a trained
public like to judge a trained young artist. The result of course is
doubtful, and, at best, the attraction of a great name is wholly
absent ; but the thing is rightly in the traditions of the theatre.
Here we have seen scarcely anything of this. Again, official criticism
i had to exercise in London its inevitable task. A licence allowed
to certain pieces has had to be withheld from others. Moreover,
certain plays at the Francais had so little chance of favour in
England, that to submit them to the censorship was known before-
hand to be quite a fruitless formality. And this restriction of choice
has had a consequence not yet, I think, recogiiise<l the presentation
of pieces now out of date in France, of which the much admired senti-
mental play of Madame ile Girardia, La Joit fait Peur, is a fair ex-
ample. Of course much older pieces than f.aJoiefaitPeurxK performed
to-day in Paris without sign of fatigue. But Molierc and Manvaux
do not age — Madame tie Girardin docs. Got is excellent in La/cit
fait P(ur ■. it is difficult to see how Regnicr can have been better.
But not even the excellence of Got can make of very vivid interest,
to the Parisians of to-day, the long-drawn sentiment of a drams
wholly innocent, indeed, but also almost wholly lachrymose. Whether
this grieving mother will survive the shock of discovering that her
grief was premature, is a question which — especially in the somewhat
laborious fashion in which Madame Favart presents it — does not
engage attention very absorbingly during nearly half an hour. The
interest of the piece rests in the presentation of the aged servant.
He is like a genre picture by Viberl. But we are asked to look at
him too long.

With regard to the actors, it is curious to note where there are
differences between the opinion held in France and that just formed
in Kngland. Certain artists are of indubitable rank : the >mootlily
finished art of Got, and the genius of Sarah Bernhardt, arc matters
of which it is now superfluous to dispute, though I remember the
moment when I was myself rather taken to task by the ordered
omniscience of conventional criticism, for claiming for Sank
Bernhardt, while she was still at the Odcon, honours which k was
not to be supposed could possibly be merited by an artist who

The Comedic Francaise and Monsieur Zola. 67

ax it the Francis. Of Sarah Bernhardt, however, there is now no
morcany question. And Got, having long been at the Franeai.s, ha-:
long been perceived to be perfect. Bat it is not of literary criticism,
bat other of conversational, that we think when reference is made to
tie differences between the opinions held in Paris and those that
tort been formed this month in London. In England, M.ui,
towelle Croiiettc has had but scanty success, while in Fram.e tin 1,
i» a Mtruction in her talent and person not due alone to her exc.q>
nccal performance in the S/Ainx : a performance vigorous and
JitMtk in the beginning, and vigorous and scientific at the end
Cnxette upon the stage is an artist of robust rather than delicate
•eSgence. Her physique as a woman seems to reveal her temper-
meat at an artist. Whether in the smoother passages or in the
cbCcalt moments, the true CtisiS of a drama, her intelligence is to be
cooMed on ; but you cannot count so surely on her sympathetic
ptaer; not sorely on her aptitude to win laughter ; still less surely

• a rapacity to provoke tears. But she can plant her dialogue
WEintly. She can be always audacious or good-natured, if not
often refined, nor often distinguished. Her art and individuality arc
W wholly French.

Of French graciousness and French immediate charm — strangely
■d entirely independent of formal beauty — it has been recognised in
&|Und that Madame ESmQk Broisal is a singular and perfect type.
l&e drama of Mademoiselle <le Belle Isle has shown us that with
ungraciousness and charm— with the attraction of a personality in
•iote presence people of taste and sensitiveness know themselves to
be more than ordinarily serene — there exists in Madame Brois&t a
pate capacity for purely dramatic performance than we might have
ieeo inclined to expect. A Parisian expert of the theatre spoke to

• of Madame Btoisat as of a "tali tamdaire ;" but his
jtlpneat— though reflecting that of others — was a shade too
tetakaL He meant that, notwithstanding some dramatic capacity,
Xidatne Broisat was not unlikely to partialis fail in a great theatrical
■taboo. -is comedy and vehement emotion find her
msed to express them. But to all quieter scenes she gives— by the
taay expressions of her face of profound, and humorous, and genial
tarligencc — a gentle, irresistible reality. She is not a very great
*5t, nor a very great lady's daughter. She is of the cultivated
terpwcisV: as fine and del 1 exponent as I desire to see of a
das of society that has sweetened the world of France. We have not

:31 in England to give one of our warmest welcomes to Madame

68 The Gentleman's Magazine.

It belongs to the individuality of M. Mound-Sully to be
v attractive. He has a splendid and wild presence ; looks
thrice a man, and something of an untamed animal. He has a great
voice, with sounds of mellow aiusii . large rolling eyes, the shon'
of Hercules, the arm of an Oxford "strokr." And these things tell
immediately- told within the first da]

Hippolyte in Phhir? .-.in! U the berO of Htrmuu. IK- h is his uses
in tragedy and in florid or violent dnmia. He is more an actor
of passion than of intelligence : it is CIO secret, wc suppose, that
his "study" is laborious and difficult, and at the best uncertain. Ha
bib in details— shines in great effects. Somehow, the things in
which lii- presence and passion were seen to great advanl

itely for him, very soon before the public oi , and

people, valuing thankfully the somewhat rare he had to

• e hardly reminded themselves how much more such an
actor might accomplish if he united with his physical means only
some moderate share of the penetrating and comprehensive inMli-
gence bestowed so richly on Mdlle. Sarah Bernhardt, and which she
has so unceasingly cultivated and enlarged Not for M. Mo
Sully, however, his illustrious comrade's unerring intellect and colossal
perseverance. Affair of temperament, after all ! there is the faculty
that sleeps and the faculty that is alert. Sarah Bernhardt owes more
than many know to the pa itching — to the loins at all

moments girt and the lamp trimmed.

There are those who think that Sarah Bernhardt is seen at her
best in that Hofta Sol of Hernatti; others who hold that compositions
less flowery and rhetorical than I of the romantic poet

exhibit h« it she is at her strongest in th injj tragedy

of Racine— in the scenes in which she humanises Phedre. The
characters of classic drama arc generally simple. Each important
one is less an individual with dual's mh . than

;i type or embodiment of passion, 01 nf the conflict of passions, or of
some dominating sentiment. in classic

I kind ; years ago,

tared in the part — the arti
inter; -,• is one who v-

one han<i nor on the " variety and

l<-xily, but jus:
Sarah Ben

it of all a character of conflk
be so very simple tha rprctcr no choke of sides to

lean to, and in Phedre the choice is between the more prominent

The CotnMie Francaist and Monsieur Zola. 69

illustration of the evil love or that of the remorse and self-loathing
attend it. Millie. Rachel showed morbid passion much
Bernhardt lurdly shows it at all. She concentrate! her

art somewhat indeed on tin- expression of uncertainty and hesita-
tion, and a halting between silence and avowal, but more on the
ition of an overwhelming rem I now by passionate

iid now in bitter self ■communing. 'I lu- note of her Phedre

• m.-mity. 1 Ier performance speaks to us not

odiment ot mielcss horror for which, since

Literature have had no place— and which

- reserved for the curious — but as the fullest and

profbondest expression of regret for irremediable things.

!!, it was vmm- to show us Sarah Bernhardt in PhMrt. It was

a pity also not to show us this great artist of her generation in a

' c which she has nevertheless been able to vivify— the

Rome vaintut of M. Parodi. sin- plays in that, at the Francais, the

part of a Vestal Virgin's grandmother— l'osthumia, the grandmother

. who has broken her vow. who must be pnni ihed Ibx it by

I, and must die of hunger, and alone. This is what i* learnt

'.d blind woman heroic even in her fondness and the

cruse of od and the one loaf of bread are provided, to be taken at will

in the ison of the ro< k. and to be taken with the knowledge

that there is nothing more. Thai b the fate that Posthumia knows

tore for her grandchild. She comes upon the scene with grey

blanched cheeks, and gropes blindly to find whom to plead

to, and whom to embrace. The rhythm of the verses is all gone.

Her words— as Sarah Bernhardt speaks them — as she throws them

here and there— are so delivered th it they seem but the uncontrol-

Uhle ■* of an immense agitation. At last, when efforts to

me have been vain, old Posthumia offers the girl a dagger, and the

ndcrstands. But bet hands are fettered, and it is the blind old

woman who fingers nervously the place— "la place de ton cceur" —

tod strikes in kir.drusv. i i|,i ad, and Posthumia herself un-

[he girl's body to the rock, and the old woman
now feebly wandering, now daxed and half forgetful of the last
rience — totters to the tomb with uplifted hand :

< 1 .imia, ma fille. ouvre ! c'ol Ion ateala

I say i not seen this, because there can be nothing

that i tot even the entirely exquisite ending of M. Thcurict's

J an Alien Sarah Bernhardt, first with the

Hang of her speech, and then with her reticent gesture and posture of

The Gcntlemaiis Magazine.

grave quietude, gave expression to such sad and right resignation
endl a poem founded on " Auld Robin Gray. "

1 iming Sarah Bernhardt since the Conufdic Franchise, or the
ni.iji.ir pail of it, was last in England, the theatre has gained an
artist whose merits now need no assertion, though it is profitable to
try to define them. 3ut the Francis has had also losses. It
has lost in M. Brcssant and Madame Arnould.Plessy the two
most perfect representatives of "the great world:" M. Bressant
was the finest of fine gentlemen; Madame Arnouldl'lcssy the
noblest of fine ladies. They have divided Bressant's parts chiefly
between M. Worms— who was at St. Petersburg with Delaporte—
and M. 1 'cl.iiuiiiy, who, at fifty-three, bethinks aim to abandon the
part of fOBUfrtmitr lor thai of grand premier, more befitting his age.
Hut the public will BO! allow him to do so. M. Delaunay, in spit':
of Somewhat Obvioul OOWt* feet, and somewhat obvious paint — has
the fire of youth and the grace. They have found at the Con

no genuine youth with so much of grace and fire. And so he
M some of his earlier parts, Liking, too, with distinction, hut
without Kill • ni ' ' ■■•■•■ .'inrofM. Bressant's. As for Madame Arnoallt
Plessy, she has no successor. A wry noble dame is never now so
noble at the Francais as when Madame Plessu was there. Besides,
she hail followed Millie. Mars in making Marivaux possible, and
in making him They have now to shelve Marivaux:

aU events, for a while,

The grand manner having become rarer and less marked at tl
1 liL.itre Franqais, existing still chiefly with Maubant, the fere noble,
and Mdlle. Madeleine Brohan, it is satisfactory to know that much
of the best elocution remains. Few can speak a long speech, with
the right breaks and variational as well as Delaunay. Madame
irtcan deliver her lints with the old skill, though the artifice of
her stage methods is often much too apparent. Vesu

lit her nearer to nature, but have removed her from it. She
keeps, however, a stately presence and a haughtiness and
sometimes effective. Madame Emilie Broisat speaks excellently
prose of daily life. Sarah Bernhardt would seem to have been
to the delivery of verse, but those who have seen her in the brigh
comedy of Chet I'Avocat — nay, as Mrs. Clarkson of the
Slrmgin — know the instinct and the delicate art she brings to
expressive speaking of everyday matter.

Th> .till rich in its purely comic actors — actors

whom plainness or eccentricity of visage is a boon instead of a b:
Two or three faces there are which would be well placed at the P,

[.right

Tin Com&iie Frattfaise and Monsieur Zola. 71

Royal, where a face like Hyadnthe's has been a fortune. I
Coqaclins arc serious jesters in visage and air, the younger brother
being rightly content to be chiefly comic ; the elder, with the ambi-
tion of jesters who have thoroughly succeeded, now essaying — as in
the Lxtfiier dt < to touch men with pathos as well ,is

laughter. But Coquclin the elder — .1 bom actor of comic drama —
in which exaggeration is permissible — brings some exaggeration,
along of course with the stage art of many years' practice, into
the N) of sentiment. In the Ijithitr de Crimont — a

delightful poem whose meaning it is not needful to ovcr-acccn-
tuatc — he croons too effusively over the instrument which is
his consolation in unrequited love, l'or us at least the display of
sentiment here suggests sentimentality : it is not quite the true ex-
pression of emotion — even of the emotion of the highly strung, the
sensitive, the artistic — the man in whose nature there must needs be
something of a woman s, Butil people, or particularly English people,
traditionally reserved in expression, do not weep very willingly over the
pathos of Coquclin, he commands, at will, the merriment of all the
world. The mouth, the nose, the quaint eyes, the lithe action of the
body, and the skill with which all these are controlled and displayed,
ke Coquclin a figure to remember. Thiron is the type of a bon
Good cheer and genial wine are written on his visage. He
the old man who has seen life, or the bourgeois father— the ex«
Ut of animal DM rude affection, and limited mind of

lurrow yet quick intelligence.

Among comi ..nils in the first rank one of the

youngest and newest— Jeanne Samary. She i| something of what Marie
Wilton was considered a do/en years ago— shu sound sharpest

■hen spoken by her. She comes of a family which has given the stage
«ieor two eminent actresses of othi . and brings to the theatre

1 robust intelligence and a yet more robust physique. Other actresses
1* at the Fmncais may have wit, afrit, (ipugiciic, in greater propor-
than this new representative of a race apart — the plain-spoken
re, whose honesty and confidential service give them
irl •••■ ■' sensible chorus, to set foolish masters
might, and to preach common-sense in matter-of-faet talk. But Mdlle.
Samary has freshness and i 1 habic spirit. You have to laugh at

the wit of others : with Mdllc. Samary her own laughter suffices — the
prest and fullest in the world : nothing so invincible has been heard
of us in our theatres — we have to go back to traditions of
bitt and Mrs. Jordan. Or rather, i: is as spontaneous and as
s was Jefferson's in Rip Van Winklt. What a healthy animalism

The Gentleman's Magazine.

to see in opposition to the secret vices of Tartufc, and ho
her defiant independence of the Malade im.n -mains! Mdllc. Samary
will never he, and will never make the mistake of attempting to be
<■(, no actress of sentiment. She has found her place, and many
ire probahly before her in which, with the increasing authority
of experience, she will play the influential soubrrtte of Molierc to
whom no one cm say nay. Hut it is a marked advantage to her to
be able to do justice to the touches of naive sentiment that poetkal
mitsn are fond of adding even to the comic or entertaining characters
of modern comedy. And Mdlle. Samary cm deliver delicately deli-
cate things. It was the proof of this, as well as the freshness of her
liveliness, that made the quite recent performance of LElhutllt in
the Rue Richelieu so hearty a success. And M, I'aillcron conceived
the piece vigorously and wrote it brilliantly. Its well-earned triumph,
as the amusement of an hour, came after the arrangements for Knglish
performances seemed finally made. But they have since been changed
r./uimlmull withdrawn, then performed; the Dtmi Mcndt
permitted— this and that alteration made. II changes are still to be
made, then by acceptability of subject, brilliance of style, and bright-
ness of interpretation, L'Etin.-e/fe\\:ix a claim to be hi

l-KKDEKICK WET1.MORE.

ETNA.

'HERE is a marked contrast lxtwccn the circumstances of the
present <ruplion of Etna and those of the last. For many
yean the great South Bui ic system lias shown but few

signs In. Vesuvius has oci.'

in outbreak. The crater of that mountain has filled

:. and hi « twice overflowed ; but

there has been no p luvhifc Etna has been almost

nt for the last ten years, 1 he other less important

outlets of the Sontl ID volcanic system have been equally

free from disturbance.

It was otherwise when in November t868 Etna bunt into erup-
tion. During thirteen months the volcanic system of Southern
pe hod been disturbed by subterranean movement* Scan < lv I
sngle portion of the wide area included under that name had been
free from occasional shocks of earthquake. There had been shocks
■ ■barest, at Malta, ami at Gibraltar. Mount
Vcsniut, the most active though not in all respects the most in-
P«tMt of the outlets by which that system funis relief, had been in a
lute of activity during the whole of the preceding year, and i
>wer»l limes in actual eruption. But it had seemed as though
Venmui — owing perhaps to changes which had taken place in its
"ctemncan ducts and conduits— had been unable to give complete
&fcf to the forces then at work beneath the southern parts of
Iwcpr. Whenever Vesuvius had been quiescent for a while during
'&$, earthquakes occurring at far distiUI not only showed the

Wocetion which exists between the anion of Vesuvius and the
edition of regions far remote from \ but that the great

Napolitan outlet was not able to relieve as usual the remote parts
II wide volcanic region. Even in England and Ireland there
■err earthquakes, at times corresponding significantly with the tcm-
penry quiescence of Vesuvius. In fact, scarcely ten days had passed
react of an earthquake which alarmed the inhabitants
stern Europe, before a great eruption of Vesuvius began. A
■ne was thrown up, from which the imprisoned fires burst forth

Tlu Gentleman 's Magazine.

(1 BCD

in rivers of molten lava ; and round the base of this cone other
smaller ones formed themselves which added their efforts to that of
the central crater and wrought more mischief than in any crujrtion of
Vesn 'hat of i ;

But, enormous as was the quantity of lava which thou- cone*
poured forth, it would seem th.it Vesuvius was still unable to give
perfect relief to the imprisoned gases and fluids which had long dis-
turbed the South of Europe All that Vesuvius could do had been
done ; the smaller cones had discharged the lava which com:
catcd directly with them, and had then sunk to rest ; •.!
alone continued— but with diminished energy— to pour forth maws
of burning rock and streams of liquid lava. That the imprisoned
subterranean fires had not fully found relief was shown by the occur-
rence of an earthquake at Buchat ;i tha evening of Novem-
ber 27, which was only a day after the partial cessation of the
lion of Vesuvius. Probably the masses of liquid tire which ha
(lowing towards Vesuvius had collected beneath the whole of that
wide district which underlies Etn . and the Nea]
vents. Ik- this as it may, it is certain that but a few hours after the
occurrence of the earthquake in Wallachia Mount Etna be,
show signs of activity, and by the evenin-; ■! Not 1
was in violent eruption.

Whcn wc consider these circumstances in connection with
recognised fact that Etna is an outlet of the same volcanic system,
wc can hardly be suqmscd that the ineffectual effn
should have been followed by an eruption of the great Sicilian
volcano. Wc can imagine that the lakes v( lire which underlie the
Neapolitan vent should hare been inundated, so to speak, by the
continual inrush of fresh matter, and that thu' How should

have taken place into the vast c. oath the dome of Etna

which had been partially cleared when the was in

ion in 1865. During a whole year some such process had
probably been goin 1 at length the forces which had been

y gather.;. !ves were able to overcome tl

the matter which stopped up the outlets of Etna, and the mountain
was forced into violent and remarkably sudden action.

Unlike Vesuvius, Etna has always, within historic times, been
recognised as an i< ano. Diodorus Siculns speaks of an

I'rojan war, and was so terrible
mi who had peopled a n
We i i ram Thucydn

year of tl lava-stream destroyed the

868.
the

Rtaa.

ofCatai e historian, was the third which

bad taken |> ! been COtaUttd bj th..- Greeks.

Classical readers will stand) be reminded of Pindar's

graphic description of the eruption v> hii h tool I f years before

one referred to l>y Thucydides. Although tin- poet only alludes
he mountain 1 .he has yet succeed* id in pBMCBtlm "ith a

few skilful strokes the solemn grandeur of ancient Etna, the scene of
the struggles of the buried giant Tvphceus. He portrays the snowy
(M "'tiie pillar of the heavens, the nurse of eternal snows,

ivcrns the fountains of BID ppRKKhabk 6lt ;
by day a column of eddying smoke, by night a blight and rn
lame ; while masses of burning rock roll ever with loud HDCM1
thc^

I he 'one of Etna rises • the height of Mc

-uvius. Of old, indeed, the Sicilians assigned H in a

■eight Dot falling very far || | die grandest ol tin Alpine

aaountains. Hut in 1815, Captain (the late Admir.d) Smyth ascer-
tained by a careful series of trigonometrical observations that the true
height of the mountain is 10,874 feet. The Cuanians were indignant
that a young, and a: that time undistinguished, I D should

have ventured to deprive tneii rnoun leaiif *,ooo feet of the

btv had been assigned to it b) their own observer Recupcro,

aid they refused to accept the m an Liter,

however. >' Herschel from bai ins estimated

the mountain > height at 10,87 »| &**■ The clo Btent between

the tw %poken of by I U M Dl 1 — 1. yell tells us-

Mhaji|iy accident; ' but, .- oUaston remarked, "itVMoneof

lot have ha]>pened to two fool

The figure of Ktna is a somewhat flatti . whit h would be

my symmetrical were it not that on the eastern side it is broken by

p valley called the Val del Hove, which runs nearly to the

wasnit of the mountain, and descending half way down its hanks is

connected with a second and narrower valley, called the Val di

Cblonna. I rided into three regions called the dcaart»the

*ody, and the fertile regions. The first of these is a waste of lava

*ad«corisc, from the centre of which uprises the great tone. The

■oody region en the desert land to a width of six or seven

units. Over this region oaks, pines, and chestnut-trees grow

faxnnantly ; while here and there are to I pores of cork and

grounding the woody region is a delightful and trail-

.1 hvaied country lying upon the outskirts of the mountain and

ng the fertile region. This part of Etna is well inhabited and

The Gentleman's Magaziiu.

thickly covered with olives, vines, and fruit-trees. One of
lingular peculiarities of the mountain is the prevalence over its flanks
of a multitude of minor cones, nearly a hundred of which are to be
seen in various parts of the woody and fertile regions. Of these, Sir
Charles I .yell remarks, that "although they appear but trifling
irregularities when viewed from a distance as subordinate parts of so
imposing and colossal a mountain, they would, nevertheless, be
deemed hills of considerable magnitude in almost any other
region."

It has been calculated that the circumference of the cone is fully
eighty.scven English miles : but that the whole district over which
the lava extends has nearly twice that circuit.

Of the earlier eruptions of Mount Etna wc have not received
full or satisfactory records. It is related thai in 1537 the princi
tone, uhich had been 330 feet high, was swallowed up within
hollow depths of the mountain. And again, in 1693, during the course
of an earthquake which shook the whole of Sicily and destroyed no
fewer than 60,000 persons, the mountain lost a large portion of its
height, insomuch that, according to Boccone, it could not be seen
from several parts of the Valdemone whence it had before been
clearly visible. Minor cones upon the Hanks of the mountain were
diminished in height during other outbursts in a different manner.
Thus in the great eruption of 1444, Monte l'eluso was reduced to two-
thirds of its former height, by a vast lava-Stream which encircled it
on every side. Yet, though another current has recently taken the
MM course, the height of this minor mountain is still three or four
hundred feet. There is also, says Sir Charles Lycll, " a cone called
Monte Nucilla, near Nicolosi, round the base of which successive
currents have flowed, and showers of ashes have fallen, since the
•inu of history, till at last, during an eruption in 1536, the surrounding
plain was so raised, that the top of the cone alone was left proj
above the general level."

But the first eruption of which wc have complete and authi
records is the one which occurred in the year 1669. An eaithq
had taken place by which Nicolosi, a town situated about twenty mi
from the summit of Etna, was levelled to the ground. Near the
of the destroyed town two gulfs opened soon after, and from t!>
gulfs such cnormoux quantities of sand and scoriae were thrown
that a mountain having a double peak mi formed in less than fi
months. But, remarkable as w.is the evidence thus afforded of
energy of the volcanic action which was at work beneath the
of the mountain, a yet more striking event presently attracted

Etna.

attention of the alarmed inhabitants of the neighbouring country.
On a sudden, and will. .1 1 null which resounded for miles around, a
bare, tufht mitet in Utgth, opened along die flanks of the disturbed
mountain. The fissure extended nearly to the summit ut Etna. It
was very deep — how deep is unknown — but only six feet in width.
Along its whole length there w.is emitted I most vivid light. Then,
after a brief interval, five similar fissures opened one after another,
ing enormous volumes of smoke, and giving vent to bellowing
sounds which could be heard at a distance of more than forty miles,
tion commenced The volume of

baa which was poured forth was greater than any that baa ami bl I D
known to flow from the mountain during historical times. According
unite estimate o( Fcrrara, no less than 140 millions of cubic yards of
TCn poured down the sides of the mountain. The current,
after melting down the foundations of a hill called Mnmpiliin, over-
flowed no fewer than fourteen towns ami villages, some of whirl

Simmy as three thousand and four thousand Inhabitants; Alarmed
utht pro,i.': the sea of ned to overwhelm

their ians uprt ired a rampart of eoonnotu uength

■dtuty feet in he 1 stonily was this bulwark established

tail the lav3 was unable to break it or to bum it down. The molten
>e» gradually accumulated, until at length it rose above tha summit
"'the rampart, from which it poured in a fiery cascade, and destroyed
mt nearer patt of the city. "The wall was nut thrown down, how.
l-11. '• but ■ 1 ,vered long afterwards by

tiorations made in the rock by the l'rince of Bift ari ; H that the
;r may now see the solid lava curling over the top of the
runtu iiw. the very act of falling. The current had per-

formed a course of fifteen mile it entered the sea, where it ma

■ill tix hundred yards broad and forty feet deep. It covered some tcr-
ntorio in the environs of Catania, which had never before been visited
lijrd.. Etna. While moving on, its surface was in general a

auu of solid rock ; and its mode of advancing, as is usual with lava-
fteuns, was by the occasional fissuring of the solid walls. A gentle-
aua of Catania, named Pappalardo. desiring to secure the city from the
ajyroach of the threatening torrent, went out with a party of fifty
mm whom he had dressed in skins to protect them from the heal
armed with iron crows and hooks. I hey broke open one of tin
vnlh which flanked the current near Uclpasso, and immediately forth
itsued a rivulet of melted matter which took the direction of
inhabitants of that town, being alarmed for their
safety, took up armi and [wt a stop to further operations. "

8 The Gentleman's Magazine.

In the eruption of 1755 a singular circumstance occurred,
the Val del Bove, usually dry and arid, there flowed a tremendous
volume of water forming a stream two miles broad, and in some
places 34 feet deep. It flowed in the first part of its course at the
rate of two miles in three minutes. It is said to have been salt, and
many supposed it had been in some way drawn from the sea, since
its volume exceeded that of all the snow on the mountain. It has,
however, since been found that vast reservoirs of snow and ice arc
accumulated in different parts of the mountain beneath the lava. The
snow was melted by the heat of the rising lava, and was made salt
by vaporous exhalations.

Of the singular solidity of the walls of an advancing lava-stream,
Recupero has related ■ remarkable instance. During the eruption of
1766, he and his guide had ascended one of those minor cones which
lie, as we have said, on the flanks of the mountain, and from
the summit of this hill they watched with feelings of awe the slow
advance of a fiery river two miles and a half in breadth. Suddenly
they saw a fissure opening in the solid walls which encircled the
front of the current of lava ; and then, from out I ;re,

streams of lava leapt forth and ran rapidly towards the hill on whic
the observers were standing. They had just time to make tli
escape, when, turning round, they saw the hill surrounded by the
burning lava. Fifteen minutes later the foundations of the hill had
been melted down, and the whole mass floated away upon the lava.
with which it presently became completely incorporat

It would be a mistake, however, to suppose that such an 00
renccas the one we have just related is often observed. On the con-
trary, it semis that when burning lava comes into contact with rocky
matter, the biter is usually very little affected. It is only when fresh
portions of in lit kva arc successively brought into contact

with fusible rocks ihal these can be completely melted. Sir Cha
I.)cll qvOtCl a remarkable story in illustration of the small effe
which are produced by bva when there is not a continual sn |
fresh material ia HI IBC .tale. *' On the site of Mompilie

one of the towns overflowed in the great eruption of 1669, an
cavation was made in 1704 : aim labour the workme

reached, at the depth of 35 feet, the gate of the principal chu
where there were three statues held in high veneration. One
these, together with a bell, son.

traded in a good state D from beneath a gie.it

formed by the lava." This will teorfl the more extraordinary «
it is remembered that eight years after the eruption the lava

icmy

Etna, 79

soTl so hot at Catania, that it wax impossible to hold the hand in

some of the fissures.

Among the most remarkable of the eruptions of Etna which have

taken place in recent times are those of 1S1 1 and 1819.

In 181 1, according to C.emmellaro, the great crater gave vent, at
fast, to a series of tremendous detonations, from which it was judged
that the dome of the mountain had become completely filled with
molten lava, which was seeking to escape. At length | violent shock
vas experienced, and from what followed it would seem that by this
icock the whole intern. il framework of the mountain had been rent
■pea. For, first a stream of lava began to pour out from a gap in
ike cone not far from the summit. Then another stream burst out at
a opening directly under the first, ami at some distance from it,
Tkea a third ojiening appeared, still lower down ; then a fourth, and
» on, until no less than seven openings had been formed in succes-
sion, all lying in the same vertical plane. From the way in which
these openings appeared, and the pi that each stream of lava

had ceased to flow before the next lower one burst forth, it is sup-
posed that the internal framework of the mountain had been tent
open gradually, from the summit downwards, so as to suffer the
internal column of lava to subside to a lower and lower level, by

» Wiping through the successive vents. This, at least, is the opinion
which -Scropc has expressed on the subject, in his treatise on
-Volcanoes."

The eruption of 1819 was in some respects even more remarkable.
1 hare already mentioned the Val del Bovc. whu h breaks in upon
etc dome of Etna upon the eastern side. In the eruption Of (8x9
the «hole of this great valley was Covered by B sea of burning lavn.
Three huge caverns had opened nut far from the fissures, out of
•aids the lava had flowed in 181 1 ; and from these, flames, smoke,
xd-hot cinders, and sand were Hung out with singular impetuosity,
rwsendy another cavern opened lower down, but still no lava Sowed
sbi the mountain. At length a fifth opening formed, yet lower, and
haa thb a torrent of lava poured out, which spread over the whole
sstlhof the Val del Bovc. and flowed no less than four miles in the
hrsttwo days. This torrent of lava was soon after enlarged by the
of enormous streams of burning matter II owing from the three
which had formed in the first instance. The river of lava at
haftfc reached the head of fheColonna valley, where there is a vs
abaoH vertical prec: 1 which the lava streamed in a cat

of fiat. But there was a peculiarity about the falling lava which gave
to the scene a strange and awful character. As the burning cascade

The GenlLtitan 's Magazine.

ects due to

rushed down, it became hardened through the <:ooling effects i

its nii]i:ni with the rn::k-y ficc of the precipice. Thus, the nutter
which had Mowed over the head of the valley like a river of fire fell
at the foot of the precipice in the form of solid masses of rock
crash with which the filling crags struck the bottom of the valley is
described as inconceivably awful. At first, indeed, the Cataniaiw
feared that a new eruption hid Imrst out in this part of the mountain,
since the air was filled with clouds of dust, produced by the abrasion
of the face of the precipice as the hardened masses swept over it.

The length of time during which the lava of 1819 continued to
flow down the slopes of the great valleys is well worth noticing,
Mr. Serope saw the current advancing at the rate of a yard per hoar
nine months after the occurrence of the eruption. The mode of its
advance was remarkable. As the mass slowly pushed its way onward,
the lower portions were arrested by the resistance of the ground, and
thus the upper part would first protrude itself, and then, being unsup-
ported, would fall over. The (alien mass would then in its turn tie
covered by a mass of more liquid lava, which poured over it from
above. And thus "the current had all the appearance of a huge
heap of rough and large cinders rolling over and over upon itself by
the effect of an extremely slow propulsion from behind. The contrac-
tion of the crust as it solidified, and the friction of the scoriform cakes
against one another, produced a crackling sound. Within the crevices
a dull red heat might be seen by night, and sapour issuing in
considerable quantity was visible by day."

The circumstance that Ktna uprears its head high above the limit
of perpetual snow has a remarkable bearing on the characteristics of
this volcano. The peculiarity is touched on by Pindar in the words
already quoted, in which he speaks of Etna as " the nurse of everlasting
frost concealing within deep caverns the fountains of unapproachable
fire." It will be readily conceived that the action of molten lari
upon the enormous masses of snow, which lie upon the upper ;
the mountain, must be calculated to produce — under special circum-
stances—the most remarkable and, unfortunately, the most disas-
trous effects. It does not always happen that fire and ice are thus
brought into dangerous contact. But records are not wanting of
catastrophes produced in this way. In 1755, for example, a tremen-
dous flood was occasioned by the flow of the two streams of lava from
the highest crater. The whole mountain was at the time (March 2nd)
covered with snow, and the torrent of lava formed by the union of
the two streams was no less than three miles in width. It will be
readily conceived that the flow of such a mass of molten fire as 1

re as U 9

Etna. 8 !

over Ibc accumulated snows of the past winter produced the most
usastrous effects. "A frightful inundation resulted," says Sir Charles
which devastated the sides of the mountain for eight miles in
Wrgth, and afterwards covered the lower flanks of Etna (where they
woe less steep), together with the plains near the sea, with great
deposits of sand, scoria;, and blocks of lava."

la connection with this part of the subject I may mention the
lingular and apparently paradoxical circumstance that, in 1828, a large
■us of ice was found, which had been preserved for many years from
aching by the fact that a current of red-hot lava had flowed over it.
We might doubt the occurrence of so strange an event, were it not
tan the fact is vouched for by Sir Charles Lyell. who visited the spot
whew the ice had been discovered. Me thus relates the circum-
ttaccs of the discovery :— ** The extraordinary heat experienced
in the South of Fuiopc, during the summer and autumn of 18*8,
enwd the supplies of snow and ice which had been preserved in the
taring of that year for the use of Catania, and the adjoining parts of
Sicily, wd the island of Malta, to f.iil entirely. Great distress was
consequently felt for want of a commodity regarded in those countries
aioee of the necessaries of life rather than an article of luxury, and the
abundance of which contributes in some of the larger cities to the
tthibnty of the water and the general health of the community. The
■afistratcs of Catania applied to Signor Gemmellaro, in the hope
flat his local knowledge of Etna might enable bin to point out some
onxc or natural grotto on the mountain where drift snow was still
preserved. Not were they disappointed ; for he had long mtp<
last a small mass of perennial ice at the foot of the highest cone
•is part of a Urge and continuous glacier covered by a lava-current.
Having procured a large body of workmen, he quarried into this ice,
ad proved the superposition of the lav.i for several hundred yards,
» as completely to satisfy himself that nothing but the subsequent
lowing of the lava over the ice could account for the position of the
pack- -■ had noi ai 1 undated in a cavern of

moderate extent accidentally formed beneath overhanging lava
Bttsses,i. " Unfortunately for the geologist," adds Lyell, " the ii

tremely hard, and the excavation so expensive, that there is no
lity of the operations being renewed."

This strange phenomenon is explained, in all likelihood, by the

1 that the drift of snow over which the lava flowed had become
I with a layer of volcanic sand before the descent of the molten
Batter. The effect of sand in the passage of heat is well

kaowm, Nasmyth, the inventor of the steam-hammer, illustrated this

rou cexxr. so. 17S3. a

The Genilemaris Magazine.

property in a remarkable manner, by pouring eight tons of
iron into a cauldron one-fourth of an inch thick, lined with a layer of
sand and clay somewhat more than half an inch thick. When the fused
metal had been twenty minutes in the cauldron the outside was still
so cool that the pilm of the hand could be applied to it without
inconvenience. And lava consolidates so quickly that there must
soon have been formed over the snow a solid covering, strong
enough to resist the effects of the fresh molten matter which was
continually streaming over it. In this way we may readily conceive,
as Sir Charles I. yell has remarked, that a glacier io.ooo feet above
the sea level would endure a- long as the snows of Mont Blanc, unless
heated by volcanic heat from below.

It is worthy of notice that in the Antarctic seas there is an
island called Deception Island, which is almost entirely composed,
according to the authority of l.ieut. Kendall, of alternate layers of
ice and volcanic ubc •

One of the most perplexing subjects to geologists is the existence
of so remarkable a valley as the Val del Hove, breaking the contour
of the dome of Ktna nearly to the summit. It must be remembered
that there arc few subject-, which have been more carefully exarnfri
than the question of the formation of valleys and ravines The
mary agent recognised by geologists is the action of subterranean
forces in upheaving and depressing the land. In this way, doubtless
all the principal valleys have been formed. But fluviatile
have abo lo be considered ; and a valley which exists upon
Rank of a mountain may, in nearly every instance, be ascribed to
action of running water.

!n the case of the Val del Hove, however, we are forced to come
to a different conclusion. I: tin; vallej had been tornicd I
aetiun of running water in some long-past era of the mountain's

ary, the chasm would have deepened as it appro* bed the base.
On the contrary, the precipices which bound the Val del Bove are
loftiest at the upper extremity, tad gradually diminish in hci.
we approach the lower regions of the mouu

Nnr can XCt imagine that the valley ; formed by a Land

slip. The dimensions of the depression are altogether too great ft

' i an explanation to be available. And, ■ irci

stance, we are met by the consideration that, if the land which on

valley had "slipped (in the ordinary sense of the
wc should ste the traces of the movement, and be able to detect
existence of the removed mass. Not only is there no evidence of
motion of this sort, but the slightest examination of the valley

ned

I in-
ean

ices

Etna.

: disposes of the supposition that such a motion can at any time

! taken place,
t remains only that we suppose the valley to have been caused

the bodily subsidence of the whole mass which had formerly
up what is now wanting to the dome-shaped figure of the
Bontain. And the subsidence must have taken place in a sudden
Burner,— not necessarily in a single shock, but certainly not by a
flo* process of sinking. For the mass which has sunk is sharply
gpmted from the rest, so that the precipitous walls of the valley
ohibrt the structure of the mountain's frame, to a depth of from
j»o to 4.000 feet below the summit of the cone. In other words,
» portion of the crust has been separated from the rest and has then

t bodily down, leaving the remainder unchanged.

When we consider the dimensions of the valley, such an event
very startling. '"The Val del Bove," says Lycll, "is a
amphitheatre, four or five miles in diameter, surrounded by
■any vertical ' >nc might almost be prepared to

doubt that such a valley as this could be formed in the manner
described, were it not that within recent tinea we have had evidence
of the occurrence of similar events. During a violent earthquake
ad vulcanic cniption which took place in Java in 1812, the face of
■e mountain Galongoon was totally changed, "its summits broken
doua, and one side, which had been covered with trees, became an
CMfmons gulf in the form of a semicircle. This cavity was about
nbdny between the summit and the plain, and surrounded by steep
rodes." Yet more remarkable was the great subsidence which look
phoein the year 177J on Papcndnyang, the largest volcano in the
ahad of Java. On that occasion, "an extent of ground fifteen
ate in length and six in breadth, covered by no less than forty
•Sages, was engulfed, and the cone of the mountain lost 4,000 feet
tfitshdgri

There is nothing unreasonable, therefore, in supposing that some
mh event may have resulted in the formation of the strange vaDej
•fhidi mars the dome-shaped figure of Mount Etna, although no
»ach events have been witnessed in the neighbourhood in recent

One singular feature of the valley remains to be mentioned.
The vertical (ace of the pre Uich bound it are broken by

«hu,aj a distant view, appear to be dark buttresses, strangely divcr-
■fad in figure, and of tremendous altitude. On a closer inspection,
these strange objects arc seen to be composed of lava
; ota through the face of the clifis. Being composed of harder

The Gentleman's Magazine.

materials than the cliffs, they waste away less rapidly, and thus it is
that they are seen to stand out like buttresses. Now, wc would
invite the close attention of the reader to this part of our subject,
because, as it seems to us, it illustrates in I singularly interesting
manner the mode in which volcanic cones arc affected during eruption.

Wc have seen that in the eruption of 1811 there was evidence
of a perpendicular rent having taken place in the internal framework
of Etna, and in 1669 a fissure was formed which extended ri^ht
through the outer crust. In one case lava was forced through the
rent, and burst out at the side of the mountain. In the other, the
brilliant light which was emitted indicated the presence of molten
lava dcqi down in the fissure. Now, when we combine these circum-
stances, with the ifyka seen in the Val del Bovc, and with the similar
appearances seen round the .indent crater of Vesuvius, wc can
come, as it appears to me, to but one conclusion. Before and during
an eruption, the lava which is seeking for exit must be forced with
such tremendous energy against the internal framework of the
mountain's dome, as to fracture and rend the crust, cither in one or
two enormous fissures, or in a multitude of smaller ones. It does
not follow that all or any of the fissures would be visible, because
the outer surface of the crust may not be rent. Into the fissure* thus
formed the lava is forced by the pressure from below, and, there
solidifying, the crust of the dome remains as strong, after the liquid
lava has sunk to its usual level, as it was before the eruption. When
we see dykes situated as in the Val del Bovc, wc learn that the
fissures caused by the pressure of the lava extend far down the flanks
of a volcanic mountain. That they are numerous is evidenced by
the fact that those seen in the Val del Bovc amount, according
to Sir Charles Lyell, to " thousands in number."

And perhaps we may understand from such considerations H
these the manner in which the Val del Bove itself was formed. For
a wide strip of country between two great fissures might be so waved
and shaken by the action of the sea of molten lava beneath as to be
fractured cross-wise ; and then, on the sub sidence of the lava, the
whole mass below the fracture would sink down bodily. We gain an
extended conception of the energy of the forces which are at work
during volcanic eruptions, when we see that they thus have power to
rend the whole framework of a mountain.

Among recent eruptions of Mount Etna, one of the most singular
was that of the year 1852, which began so suddenly that a party
of Englishmen, who were ascending1 the mountain, and had nearly
reached the foot of the highest cone, were only able to escape

ipe with

Etna. 85

ptu difficulty. The eruption which had commenced so abruptly
did not cease with corresponding rapidity, liut continued, with but a
few slight intermissions, for fully nine months.

The eruption in progress as I write has not yet attained any
remukablc degree of energy, though possibly before these lines
appear, another story may have to be told. In the last week of May
a assort opened on the north side of the mountain, •' and thence
retimes of smoke and flame were seen to issue from it. From the
cater itself, a great cloud of black ashes has been poured forth,
tendering the mountain invisible and obscuring the rays of the sun "
iby»hkh the writer must surely mean obstructing their passage), "even
*t 1 distance of many miles. These ashes have been carried far and
•ide, and have even covered the ground so far away as Reggio, on the
adjicent coast of Calabria Three newcraters havcopened in thedirec
tkmof Randa»o, on the :<• of the mountain, and the lava is

ruaamg rapidly towards the town of Krancavilla, where (^reat alarm
■ fek, though that town is situated beyond the river Alcantara, and
eo the very outskirts of the region usually threatened by eruptions.
On the opposite side of the mountain, Palermo and the adjacent
rilbof Santa Maria ili Licodia are reported to be greatly alarmed."
Bat it present the direction of the disturbance is towards the north,
and the chief danger lies therefore also in th.it direction. The new
caters, and the nssurc with which the eruption began, lie all on the
northern side of the mountain. " The stream of lava, which is es'.i
sated to be 70 metres" (about 75 yards) "in width, is flowing in a
direction somewhere between Francnvilla and Randazzo, and seems
to hare reached the high road which encircles the mountain, and
connects the latter town with the villages Linguaglossa and Piedi-
ntonte. These villages arc inshrouded in a canopy of ashes, and
almost total darkness prevails in them. None of the ordinary con-
comitants of a great eruption seem to be absent. Balls of fire, or
■hat are taken for such, arc hurled into the air from the new craters
and fissures, and, having reached a great height, they burst with a
bud crash Reports like the rolling of artillery arc heard in the
night, while night and day alike the stream of lava flows stealthily
and irresistibly on, until by the latest accounts it has reached to
whin a few miles of Linguaglossa."

Whether the eruption now in progress will attain the dimensions
of the more remarkable of those which have preceded it, remains to
he seen. As the last took place ten yeats ago, and was considerable,
thaogh following one which liad occurred but three-and-a-half years
(Bier, it seems not unlikely that the present may be an important

The Gentleman's Magazine.

eruption. What we know already respecting it, tends to confirm the
belief of Sir Charles Lyell, that, if the earth's internal fires arc dimi-
nishing in intensity, the diminution takes place very slowly. A
process of change may be going on which will result one day in the
cessation of all subterranean movements. But the rate at which such
a process is going on is so slow at present as to be imperceptible.
We cannot point to a lime within the historical era, or even within
that far wider range of duration which is covered by geological
records, at which the earth's internal forces were decidedly superior
in energy to those at present in action. Nor is this to be regarded
as of evil import, but altogether the reverse. The work achieved by
subterranean action, destructive though its immediate effects may
often appear, is absolutely necessary to the welfare and happiness of
the human race. It is to the reproductive energy of the earth's
internal forces that we are indebted for the existence of continents
and islands on which warm-blooded animals can live. " Had the
primeval world been constructed as it now exists," says Sir John
Hcrschel, " time enough has elapsed, and force enough directed to
that end has been in activity, to have long ago destroyed every
vestige of land." So that, raising our thoughts from present int
to the future fortunes of the human race, we may agree witi
Charles I.ycll that the most promising evidence of the permanence
of the present order of thing* consists in the fact that the energy of
subterranean movements i> always uniform, '.when 'considered with'
reference to the whole of the earth's globe.

RICHARD A. PR(

SENOVO AND SHIPKA REVISITED}

\ X 7 ILL yOU accompany mc in an excursion to Scnovo at.il
VV Shipka?" said General Scobiclcff to mc one clay in the
second week of May. I was then staying in Philip|>opolis, whcTe the
General had come from Slivno, the head-quarters of the 4th Army
Corps, to meet General Obroutchcff, the speei.il envoy of the Czar
of Russia to the Bulgarians of Eastern Roumelia. " We arc about
to leave the country," continued General Scobieleff, " and I wish
ooce more to look upon the scenes of our greatest struggles and our
bloodiest triumphs." The invitation so heartily given was as heartily
JCorpted, for I too desired to revisit the Tfindza valley, rendered
familiar by scscral rather dangerous rides during the early weeks of
t* campaign. On the following morning 1 breakfasted with General
Scobieleff and Prince THu-rteletY. another old campaigning friend,
who at the outbreak of the war forsook diplomacy and took up anus
» tbe capacity of a private Circassian of the Guard. Prince 1 "cherte-
tef it was who, disguised as a Bulgarian peasant, discovered and
explored the Hani Kioj Pass, through which General Gourko static
bis first march across the Balkans arid turned the position of Shipka.
It was a pleasant meeting, and I am afraid to say how long we
Sagaed over breakfast. Naturally we "fought our battles o'er
Jffun," recounted reminiscences of our march across the Balkans, of
the terrible scenes of Turkish brutality and ferocity which we had
witnessed in the ruined and desolated villages through which wc
pasted, of our hairbreadth escapes in the awful retreat which Gourko
bad 10 make from Eski Zaghra across the Lower and the Greater Balkans
befcre the overwhelming forces of Suleiman Pasha, of the heroic
bravery and splendid discipline of the Russian troops at Plevna,
*nd of ScobicIcfTs popularly supposed charmed life. Touching the
htter belief, FriOCC Tcherteleff told an anecdote of a visit which
be nude to a hospital after tin assault on Plevna. He was shown
b» Ac Sister of Mercy of the Red Cross Society a soldier badly
■waded on the side, and informed with sincerity which could not

' Tit }!»<-*•« mentioned in the fottawtafj .pell aj they nppe»r in the

A»*i«iStarM«p.

The Gentleman's Magazine.

be gainsaid, and with many crossings on the breast, that th<
which caused the wound had first passed through General Sc
without harming him. It is a fact that no man throughout the whole
campaign was more frequently under fire than General Scobielcff,
and yet he only twice received a contusion, and on neither occasion
was the wound serious enough to disable him for an hour. From
the war and the incidents thereof, the conversation became general ;
literature, art, national customs, politics, in turn being discussed.
To one who, like myself, is not a polyglot, ?. discussion in the society
of educated Russian gentlemen becomes perfectly bewildering.
Russian, French. German, English, and Italian arc all spoken with
equal fluency ; authors arc quoted with a precision and felicity which
makes even a well-read Englishman blush. A characteristic of familiar
i oiivci-.atioH is good humoured i iiUery,ind, the subject of banter being
the ambition of a young diplomat, Shakespeare, Goethe, Dante,
Moliere, Horace, and Byron were cited with charming appositeness.

It was an hour and a half after midday before a start was effected.
The mode of travelling was a caleche drawn by four horses harnessed
abreast, and as we rattled over the strong streets of PhtHppODOUs and
across the new iron girder bridge which spans the Maritza, and
which the Russians have limit .is a parting gift to the capital

tem Koumclia, the General informed me that we should requir
to go at a very -till pace, as we had to accomplish a hundred vcrst
ere nightfall. No sooner had we cleared the city and bidden fanw.
to its ruined suburbs, than the horses were urged into a gallop, an.!
we went at a rate which in England would certainly have been
designated furious driving. If anything, a Russian is a good coach-
man, but for our first stage we were rather unfortunate in the driver.
With the best intentions in the world, he failed to Steer cleverly-
round or through the abysses which abound in all Turkish m
and which certainly were frequent enough in the chaussee along
which wc were proceeding at railway speed. The General's aidc-c
camp— Comtc Mashkoff — who accompanied us, thereupon took ti
reins, and wc spun along with astonishing smoothness, the road con-
sidered. Wc absolutely seemed to skim over the hollows
were momentarily encountered, and what to my mind was a
gallop was only eased a little when we reached the not infrcquc
spots where the loose macadam had been wholly washed away by i
brawling spring torrent. There was much that was attractive in
scenery. Right in front of 01 extended the green and purple sic
of the I-owcr Balkans ; while rising above their rounded heads
'be long range o( the Greater Ifcilkans, whose sharp and rugged ]

ESenovo ana Shipka Revisitea. 89

1 snow, glistened like jewels in the blue distance. On
lodope Mountains, alxo still wearing their winter mantle,
notched their varied outlines as far as the eye could reach. Ex-
ttading from the granitic crags on which Philippopolis is built to the
dopes of the Lower Balkans, the great plain over which wc were
coming is of great beauty and fertility. A rich alluvial black soil
petti hs increase with the rudest cultivation, trees singly and in
groups give diversity to the landscape, and the remark ever
uppermost in the mind is, " What a land this might be made
m the hands of energetic Englishmen or enterprising Americans ! "
Dr. Johnson remarked on one occasion that there was no
{fcauac in the world so great as that of being rapidly driven
t» aa open carnage through a beautiful country. General Scobiclcff
>e<aed determined that I should enjoy this pleasure to the luU
The mull but hardy horses of the Ukraine breed — a cross made
it Peter the Great"s time between the Knglish horse and the
Anb— never seemed to tire, and maintained the gallop for two
ifcura at a stretch. At a village called K.ir.itoprak wc changed
tents, and in a few minutes wctc continuing our onward way at the
■Be headlong speed. As wc approached the base of the Lower
Mans the country assumed a character like that observable in the
■M picturesque parts of the midland counties of England. Hill
toi rale were enriched with groves and trees, and sparkling streamlets
pre life to the scene. At intervals wc passed flocks of brown sheep
ad small herds of dun -coloured cattle or black buffaloes, which told
of a certain amount of wealth in this too frequently desolated dis-
»n ; but not a half of the splendid soil appeared under cultivation,
■here the peasants had again settled to labour, the fields of whea"
•we in the ear, or the ground was being prepared for the maize crop
it the women tended their small flocks on the rolling pasture lands,
ittf in hand, they spun yam from the wool which their sheep had
petted Following the lied of the GidpSU river, we cut through the
tare* Balkans, and entered the valley of Karlovo. Passing the
•Affe of Cukurli, we observed the gymnastic society at their after-
W» drill, and while the horses were being changed the General and
Inked on a short distance. A turn in the road brought us face to
fccenh the National Guard, as these volunteers now delight to call
*fjtl«es. They had seen the General, and had marched rapidly
■ad the village so as to salute him as he passed. A fine body of
Hon they were, with good-natured expression, intelligent features,
■d considerable aptitude for drill. Twelve months' experience of
*Ktae freedom from Turkish oppression, and safety for life, honour,

The Gentleman's Magazine.

and.

(hat

>n the

caflt

and property have created a wonderful change in the poor
peasants. Their bearing is totally different from what I remember it two
years ago. The cringing obsequiousness which was their characteristic
while the overbearing Turk was still their master has disappeared,
they carry themselves as men who feel something at any rate of
dignity of manhood. " Now," said General Scobieleff, " 1 will lb
you what we have made of these lads in a few months." Thei
the hero of a score of battles took command of this village liand.
At the word they formed line admirably, broke into column,
marched and counter-marched, re-formed line, and fired a volley

i yards. 9ft < Examined the rille.i of nearly every man to see that
he nndentood whal he was about, and found without exception
"sights" property adjusted. The", in obedience to the bugle
which the General sung out, skirmishers extended and advaic
front of half the company, which acted as supports. At another
rat-ta-ta-ta from the General, the latter also extended as skin.i
and the whole advanced. Ta-ta-ta turn sung out the Gen
lad down the fellows lay ami commenced firing. So went un
drill, and the manoeuvres ended in a grand bayonet i huge,
taking our leave of these interesting young volunteers, whose d<
mination it is never to permit a Turki ih soldier again to enter
country. General Scobieleff made them a short void

complimented alike their intclligi DOS and their new-born patriot!

When fairly in the Karlovo valley we skirt the northern si
the Lower Balkans, which, for the most part, arc covered with
scrub, with lure and there patches of forest. Just before tumi
our faces eastward, we catch sight of the blue ridge of moun
running into the head of the Karlovo valley, which forms
boundary between Macedonia and Eastern Roumelia : while, on
other side, the valley is hemmed in by the precipitous dift of
Greater Balkans, in a nook of which is Karlovo — the city of ari
as it is now called. Here reside 602 women, widowed in one day
the orders of Achmct Bey, and who were only moi te

hundreds of their sisters and neighbours, because they escaped
their lives, whereas the others were sacrificed to the lust and
of die ruthless soldiery. While our hearts burned v.
remembrance of these deeds, our compassion for the Bulgarian
was still further excited by meeting a band of refugees from the
trict of Adrianople, who, dreading the resumption of Turkish
already signalised I M and robberies, have forsaken

and lands, and seek in these safer valleys a new home. Lea'
benind the broad champaign of Karlovo, we enter a narrow glen,

Senovo and Shipka Revisited.

9»

of which arc beautifully cultivated. In the small fields men
women axe hard at work ploughing, hoeing, and sowing — a pre-
test scene of blissful peace and toiling industry — a striking contrast
to the violence, bloodshed, cruelty, and rapine of which these valleys
were the theatre less than eighteen months ago. By.and-by we
commence the ascent of a rough path which winds picturesquely
tomd the shoulders of the encircling hills to the eastward, and when
tie summit has been attained a glorious landscape is presented at
out feet, while a few minutes' breathing-space is afforded our horses.
Overlooking the range of the I.owcr Balkans on our right, our eye is
tarried, across the great plain which we had traversed in the <-arly
lfiemoon, to the three crags of PhSIppOpolis, now a luminous purple
» fte far distance. Beyond and to the right and left arc the liluc
Rflodopcs; rising in serried peaks at the western end of the valley
which we had ascended arc the mountains of the Ichtiman Pass,
to be the scene of dispute between the Commissioners for the
aoa of the boundary between Bulgaria and Turkey ; while
towering above these is the cone of the Baba Konak, even now in
its virgin mantle rivalling the fleecy clouds which fleck the horizon,
b was over the latter pass that Gourko led his intrepid battalions in
December 1877, and it was in that same pan that in one snowstorm
he lost 800 men and 18 officers. More immediately on our left the
eye dips mto a delicious Alpine valley, watered by a crystal stream,
abac banks are green with waving corn, the higher reaches animated
by lowing herds or brown-fleeced sheep Enchanted with the lovely
{•aspect, wc lift our gaze to the frowning mass of the Kalofcr
whose bare brown and grey rocks give colour to its
zone, and to the snow-crowned heights which stand out in
against the violet sky. Care had now to be observed in picking
r way along the mountain track, with .it tunes the possibility of a
banal fall down some precipitous cliff; but in half an hour the way
kosne better, and we discovered we were making an entry into what
•» once the thriving town of Kalofcr. What a picture of dcsola-
Mb> amidst great natural beauty was presented ! Originally built on
■bet side of a deep glen, with here and there broad fertile terra"
rf the head stream of the Tundza brawling at the bottom and
irraj several diminutive mills, Kalofcr must have been two short
d one of the prettiest Alpine towns in the whole Balkan
the home of an industrious population, whose gr.
that their all would not be taken from them by rapacious
s, or that their daughters would not grow up so pretty as to
jsJful eye of some satyric Bey. Their occupation was to

The Gentleman's Magazine.

attend the flocks which sought pasture in the gullies of the mountain*;
to spin their yam and weave it into the stout brown tweed for which
the Balkan villages arc so famous ; or in the early spring and
summer to cultivate their rose gardens, from the flowers of which
the celebrated attar is distilled. Now the heart bleeds to see
the universal ruin \ houses razed to the ground, or standing half'
burned amid the fresh greenery of once pleasant, shady gardetu;
mills whose gentle clatter told of ceaseless industry, wrecks ; churches
• lil ipidatcd and despoiled, and black with the fire and smoke of
arsonous and sacrilegious Turks. And the cause of all this ruin,
eloquent of untold misery and suffering? It could not have ken
that this town, perched like an eagle's nest in the bosom of the
Balkans, was besieged by some ruthless invader and so stubbornly
defended that it was given over on capture to fire and sword by the
conquerors ; for here no Russians passed, and all thai pertains U
legitimate warfare took place scores of miles away. Was it, then, thai
the Bulgarians rose in insurrection, distraught by the cruelty and op-
pression of their Mussulman rulers ? Thai could not be, because *■
the lime to which I refer there was no Turkish garrison in the to**
What then ? Surely the Bulgarians did not fire iheii own house* and
immolate themselves on such altars? Nay. verily. Perhaps, Sir
Henry Layard, the Marquis of Salisbury, Lord Beaconsfield, or lie
Sublime Porte may have another answer to the pertinent question,
but the following is the true one. When General Gourko had aco**
plished his first feat of crossing the Balkans by the Hani Kioj PttS,
and had taken up his quarters at Kaaanlik, deputations from various
towns and villages in the Tundza valley waited upon the successful
general to congratulate him, and in some cases to hail him asthcirde-
livcrer from a yoke which could hardly be borne. Among other ptacei
from which such deputations api>cared was Knlofer, and this coming •
the cars of Sulieman l'ash.i, then commander-in-chief at 1'hilippopoiUi
he despatched a regiment of Turkish regular soldiers to that tO*fc
and another to Karlovo, with instructions to make an example <*
what he called the insurgents. I have already referred briefly to tie
manner in which Karlovo was dealt with ; we have before our eyes to*
sad proof of the style in which the monster's instructions were canitd
out in Kalofer. Immediately on their arrival in the quiet and indus-
trious town the regular troops commenced first to pillage the houses
of the Bulgarians, to outrage the women and young girls, to kill alike
young and old men, and then to burn houses, churches, and schools.
For three days the fiendish work was pursued, dead and living were
thrown into the burning houses and consumed — a burnt offering to

Saitrvo and Shipka Revisited. 93

ibe hist and fanaticism of the Moslems. At last the work of destine-
no was complete, every building was in ruins, and every Christian,
wept tlvc few who at the first onset had hurriedly escaped to the
Domains, had been sacrificed. Their fiendish work had been ac-
cwftiihed, and the valiant and chivalrous soldier* of the Sultan took
tier departure elsewhere, mayhap to renew their arduous labours of
Weeding the sacred soil of the Forte, in like manner, from the in-
naiag Muscovite. It is known that in K.ilofcr 6jo women and
chidren were slaughtered, and nearly that number of men

The necessity for having a broken spring of the carriage rehired
pvtmc the opportunity of a closer inspection of the ruins of Kalofer
nd of conversing with many of the inhabitants who have returned to
tv« desolated homes. Some of the houses are being rebuilt with
necicr granted by the Russian admini&tiation.but the work of recon-
ttraaion progresses slowly. Among the charred remains of the
teat« looes are still to be found — indestructible testimony

»* the truth of the tale heard on every side of the cruelty of the
Torkit During our promenade, melancholy though it was,

a bright incident occurred. Haifa score of link- children, very
wntily dad. but with pleasant features and beaming faces, came and

Ksfaed flowers, testifying alike to th tk qualities of the Bulga-

asm and their gratitude to thi -ir deliverers. That the Russians arc loved
hythc • : d leas Uwui by the adults is proof positive that all ike

alti spread by interested persons of Russian oppression being greater
Aaa tli , are baseless falsehoods. H ere the Muscovites

Ac linns some people would have Wester. believe, they

•odd not 1 and retain the love of old and young which is

unifested on all hands and in every district. One woman with
•torn 1 spoke toW me that on the approach of tKi she

escaped to the mountains by a path which she pointed out, taking
•it* her two of her own children and another little nirl whose father
sad mother were afterwards massacred. After wandering in the
noantain* for many days, die too discovered thai her hmband had
Men . i was only as; of the stories which we

baud at every step. One woman with u - eyes said: —

;nk Cod that thi 1 ins have rcrnembi red that wi .

' we were suffering, and that they have brought us

arc 1 . God knows, for our all was stolen free

ll *c will work and trust in God and help each other."

dso taken to her home two orphans, and, commenting

upon the fact, « ; ■ obiclcff told her that it was the duty as well

as the privilege of the poor to help each other at a time when God

The Gentlemans Magazine.

sent misfortunes upon them. "True," replied the woman
we do what we can for each other. We are happy now that we
free and shall never see the Turks again."

Time pressed; and, our carriage having been repaired, we bade
women be of good cheer, while the General comforted the hearts
the children by a free distribution of sugar bought from a primi:
store in ■ half-ruined house, and we took our departure from iil-
Kalofer. Clearing the mountain retreat, we descended by a
path to the plain of the Tiindza. Mere wc passed long stretches
neglected rose gardens maize fields untillcd, and rich farms innoo
of the plough. Everywhere were signs of a population thinned
murder and rapine— a sad commentary on the rule of the Turks
the terrible atrocities which disgraced their last days of OMiipai
Hi ■ land U beautiful and fertile as the garden of Eden. When
regards all this, and reflects on the "ower true tales" heard
mas>acre and outrage, wonder ceases at the firmly and almost fi
expressed determination of the Bulgarians that they shall
freedom from the presence of the Turks, or death. As wc adv
the beauty of tin- valley increases. Trees and streams, and ro!
downs of rich alluvial soil — ajl that can constitute a magnifi
country— are here ; while the mountain slopes which hem in
valley arc clothed with waving forests. On the way wc pass
several triumphal arches crowned with crosses. These had
erected during Eastertide for the passage of religious process!
from one village to another. Prohibited for hundreds of years
the public display of the symbol of their faith, the Bulgaria,
that freedom has come to them, have a childish delight in everywfo
erecting crosses. UkCf fording a stream called the Ak Iterc,
leave the great chaussee which leads to Kazanlik, and strike ro
u.iMis and eastwards towards the bate of the Greater Balkans,
and there wc pass patches of cultivated ground ; and at but, in
fast-approaching twilight, we reach the village of Beccrli, einbo
among trees and surrounded by rose gardens. Scnovo was. ho
our objective point, and onward we pressed. The G<
stood up in the carriage scanning the country on either side,
consulting a B is hand. In the waning light ti

flames was seen at different points, denoting the small encamp!
of refugees or the watch fires of solitary shepherds. An al
oppressive Millness reigned, broken now and again by the hoarse
of countless frogs as wc drove alongside a marsh. At last the Gcnen
said, " I come to Senovo to pray for the dead, and to take my lam
look at a battle-field which, if it brought us some glory, cost us

Senovo and Shipka Revisited.

much Mood I have not seen it," he continued, " since the eventful

58th December, 1877— five days before Gourko's battle* at Philip-

popohV Again he stood up in the carriage, and eagerly scanned

the contour of the ground. A few minutes afterwards he raised his

cap, and, looking round and upwards began to recite in his sonorous

bat musical voice a Russian poem. Simultaneously with this action

1 lark sprang ap from the meadow land in front and Commenced lii-

cratang song. Was it a symbolic hymn which rose from that " field

rf freedom, fame, and blood ? " Turning suddenly to me, the General

■ Here in this wood I posted nine regiment! of Cossacks to

rmy right flank ; and theTc is the plain over which my devoted

, without a single gun. advanced against an enemy which out-

them, and which moreover had «»o pieces of artillery."

5 with great emotion," he went on, " that I look again upon

\ battle-field. Many thousands of lives were lost there upon my

Jopoosibihty as a general." Again he took off his cap, sighed, and

Udemn accent* recited a Russian poem about death. Afterwards

: explained to mc that the poet pictured the entrance to the tomb

terrible to th< lion at a distance, but that when face to

with it in a holy cause it lost all its terrors and became the

to heaven itself. His voice rang with emotion, and his

I a5 he continued to repeal the lines, were characterised by

■emulous yet graceful animation, which told of the deep feeling

stirred I heart " It was," he said, " the bloodiest

of the war ; 10,700 brave Russian soldicTS met their death on

(field, and 15,0c*- And, turning with startling emphasis,

be. ■ Are you afraid to sleep over the graves of 25,000 men ?"

waiting for a reply, he went on, M There are thousands of

ren brave men, who would nut do it. and few women in the

I wocld have the courage. But we have no belief in the old

I which tell us that the dead rise at twelve o'clock at night and

1 their untimely fate." With a quick mm of thought, poirj

1 spot 00 oor !• laid, "There, when reconnoitring the

ipenkioo before t dt, a shell borsl literally under my

smoke eoi almost suffocated me. My steed

■fid I thought for a moment that (lie end had come ; but God

I work was not -and, strange to say, neither

t myself was harmed." Onwards we went towards a

At e*ery step the General pointed oui the dispositions which

acorn had taken during the progress of the battle ; but of this

■r Km In the darkening night a Cossack met the carriage,

■ led the way into the wood, where twinkling lights discovered a

•

g6 The Gentleman's Magazine.

small encampment. Descending from the carriage at the oui
of the wood, the General, pointing to several mounds, quo
said, " There Slaughter heap'd on high his weltering ranks," u
the time throwing aside tlie melancholy gloom which had sat upon
him during the last hour, he advanced with cheerful stride to
General .Schnitnikoff and the members of his staff, who had comt to
the Senovo wood to meet him, and had formed the encampment
The manner in which General ScobieleiT was surrounded by

all '.us t.itie-t-rs, \uimx and old, the greetings with which he was
recmvedi and the earnest mqujriei made as to news, told of tw>
things— the love and admiration with which the young but brilliant
soldier is regarded by all. He is only thirty-five- -and was a gen
at thirty-one, a commander ofa Corps d'Armc'c at ihirn-foui, ind
ious leader in one- of the greatest and most decline battles
;in campaigO. , In the second place, it spoke of the eagerness »i
which ill desired to hear the verdict "peace or war" which
knew General Scobicleff to bring as the result of the message
the Czar to the Bulgarian people delivered al l'hilip|>opolis
General ObroutchcrY. As the General's aide-de-camp handed to
assembled officers copies of the Czar's pcacefid proclamation,
could be no questioning the disappointment which it had created.
Later in the evening one of the officers, condemning in
language all diplomacy, and especially that of perndiou
expressed himself to mc : "Cannot you see how this policy should
stir us so? l-'or two years wc have deluged this land with our blood-
Our brothers arc slain, our country has made enormous sacrifice,
widows mourn, children weep, and fathers lament the loss of prom*-
ing sons. All this wc would have bome with the patience which God
gives, had the full freedom which wc had won for our brothers ia r*«
and religion, in language and faith, been accorded to them. But
accursed diplomacy steps in and says, "no ;' only the smaller half of
them shall be free and the greater number shall be again handed
over to the tender mercies of the Turks. You know yourself «*■»
the Turks have been, and arc and ever will be; and, placing yourself
in our position, would you not also be consumed with wrath thato*
sacrifices are to be in vain, and that the men over whose graves at
arc now treading should have died for nought ? " Amid such impatient
expi e dinner passed beneath the trees whose massive trunk*

reflected the glimmering camp lights, and whose giant arms stirred
eerily in the overhanging gloom. The night wind sighed through the
fluttering leaves a requiem for the dead whose refrain seemed
" Woe is me, Bulgaria ! " Soon we all crept to our tents and courted

Senovo and SAipia Revisited.

sleep ; and in a few minutes thoughts of home, of war's alarms, of
those whom "the archangel's trump, not glory's, must awake," of a
"Congress doing all that's mean " were sunk in oblivion. Heavy
nins beat and lashed on the canvas, and thunder rolled overhead,
m<1 the trees moaned and creaked before the blast ; but I slept through
it ill, and only awoke when the cooing of the ringdove and the
Wrsttring of the golden oriole told that the storm had tossed. All
hm experienced the exhilarating freshness of the air after a thunder-
•eon; and, as I step]>cd out of the tent and inhaled the pure oxygen
Of the valley, I could not help en burning

The morn i» tip again, the ilewy morn.

Iircalh ftll incense, »nrf »ith check all til
Ltugbini; the cloud* anay null playful

:iine<l no tomb.

Perhaps at thin point it may be well to give a ihort sketch of the
buck- of Senovo, botli because it will illustrate the course of the
RbKinient narrative, and because the leading details .ire little known
u Britain. The general pi n of the Russian attack upon the
Turki-' tray, then under the command of Vend Pasha, was

thai Prince Mosky was to advance from the neighbourhood of I
bob! lis Pass, and that General -ScobiclcrT

"a» to cross the Balk Shtpka bypauei winch he

hatnself was to discover. Once in the Tundxa valley the two
Human armies were to march upon .mil endOM Vessel Pasha. Like
*11 combinations, it was, as General Scobieleff said to me, a beautiful
ffaa "on paper ; " but though in the end this strategy was successful,
it most combinations, it failed primarily, and might, but for the
of Scobiclcff's dispositions and the energy of his attack,
temlted in 3 great disaster. According to this plan,
ScobielefT Marled from Tophsh in the neighbourhood of Selvi on
December 23 with twelve battalions of the ifith division, nine of the
klprian legion, three of sharpshooters, one of engineers, and twenty
•qttdrons of cavalry. Pri Icy had about the same Dumber of

ntntoaci is part of the movement. Through the rep

off'" and scouts, Scobieleff learned that the l
*wl<l make the attempi to cross the mountains by the Kosalita
ran by which there is ■ feasible path, and that they had accordingly
pasted troops on the heights commanding the pass. He there-
fere determined to h the sinuosities of a
Sttccession of glens which penetrate what are known as the
Ulgarica Dag and the Own Dag. Snow lay deep on the
pound; and, as there was not even 3 path in these uncxr,
rot. ccxtv. no. 1783. h

9«

The GtniUmami

■icon 01
the com-
nt of the

instADCCS

General Scobkleff was compelled to abandon hi»
guns, and push forward with has fntiiiti) and cavalry. Very early
the cavalry had to rrmwwom, and the nurwigrnrc and docility of
Russian horses were cihibucd m the manner in which they traversed
in single hie the bottoms of the glens, or dung surc-footcdly to the
sides of overhanging precipices. As they entered into the heart of
the mountains, advanced posts of sharpshooters occupied the ■
manding heights. Slow progress was made both on account
difficulty of the way and because the defiles were in many ic
almost blocked with snow. When night fell the devoted
sank to rest on the soft snow, glad occasionally to seek the si
some crystal-covered pine-tree, and lulled to sleep by the loud roar of
torrents. At the watershed of the Oxan Dag a critical point wai
reached, for if here the Turks had had possession of the mountains
on either side, it would have been impossible to hare proceeded
farther. A steep perpendicular cliff was encountered, over which
cartridge boxes had to be thrown, and down which the men had to
creep on hands and knees, whDe the horses were mwlc to slide as
best they might into the yawning abyss below. In this manner the
24th, 35th, and s6th December were passed, when at last the plain
of the Tund» » .ed to them through an opening in the

mountains. The Turkish troops had also discovered their approach,
and, hurrying eastwards, occupied the heights immediately above the

:ge of Hcraedli, whence, opening a musketry tire ujion the long
snake-like line of the Muscovite soldiers, they endeavoured to stop
their jiassage and prevent them from debouching into the open ground.
The danger of the situation was great for ScobielcfTs force, and a stub-
born Ggjbl look place in the deep recesses of the forest, among- the
scruli v. juntain tops and on the little table-lands

which were encountered here and there. The Russians fought with
desperation, and woe and defile, re-echoed

wiih the r.utlc of raakctrr. Coming round the shoulder of the hill
which overlooks the village of Hcmcdli, the Russian column was
also exposed to twins of the

d their

advance, and l>cforc nightfall, with a loss < obickff had

ito the plain the Turkish Bktnnfahei

ling closer formation, had l»y the evening of the 2;.
sure footing 0 0 of the Balkans in and arc-

vtllago of Hemcdli, wl. d themselves. It was wfc

rec- the cnci<

'hell beneath

Senovo and Skipka Revisited.

Scobitkfl's horse, previously referred to, took place. Vessel Pasha
catpied a very strong position. HU left flank, protected by .1 wood,
tttagtbened by formidable earthwork-, west ; hi* centre

«a» in front of an open glade crOStcd by B stream ; while his right
ended in a north-easterly direction towards the village of Shipka,
*rih redoubts placed at convenient intervals on commanding ground
il dong the line. As, in order to make his attack with effect,
Scobiekfl* would have to advance east first duty was to

dear the plain to the southwards of the enemy so as to H
tkst be would not be outflanked. Accordingly, the I were

Ml to the wood to the east of Tkcerli, and the 61st Regiment was
fajatcbed southwards to drive in the Turkish skirmishers and their
nppms which threatened his right flank. They had ■.<■ advi
aocesan open plain whose slope was downwards
bat with spades— with which every soldier in Scobielefft con
«nacd— they speedily d themsefa and re on the

enemy. Tl levenin therm in an hour they

had deared all the ground in from and he right flank.

Meantime, the troops on the left had not been idle. They had been
j&incing briskly in the direction of Senovo under a withering fire
frwa the redoubts. It has already been explained that the Ru
■we without artillery, and had the ground been a dead u-.-.i li 1
possible for them to have covered two or 1
■fa exposed to a continuous shower of shells, before being able to
their assault. Fortunately, there were a series of hollows and
dry w. • running in all direction ovei the plain, and Sco-

Iwkn* foresaw that with a rush from one to the other the advance
**• pMsibh . too, the Turkish commander had left in his

front, **ry foolishly, two large mounds, wl
they afforded ithing-spacc to the

rode all

: .ill thai '■','• ! !'

— aft 1 I me "D glory I" was the

or, m huzzas ; ■ ir their loved and devoted and

•cofy did I noice. The ri

hero lours flying and bands playing, the

peat attai : made. Turkish infantry 1 ■ 1 upied en

tatreri' ood and the hanks of two small

creams, fa

fct, ( however, carm

ifcdter hollow* spoken of, now making a r a the

open ground into another hollow, again 1 ;ike bees to th.

front, re

IOO

Tlu Gentleman's Magazine.

mounds. Up to this time the loss had been great, but with only
one check the Russians gained ground and persevered. All this
manoeuvring took hours to accomplish, and it was accompanied by
the roar of artillery and the unceasing rattle of breech-loading rifles.
At last the grand assault was ordered, and with loud huzzas the
intrepid Russians went at the redoubts and entrenchments of the
Turks, who fought with determined and obstinate bravery. Animated
by the presence of their General, and knowing that if they gave way an
inch there was no alternative but death or shame, the Russians per-
formed all that soldiers dare do. The first redoubt reached was that
on the Turkish left Sank. It had been made out of an old tumulus
and against it was directed the assault of the 6>st Regiment (the
Vladimir Polk), who had behaved so heroically at Plevna under
Scobicleff in storming and holding for twenty-four hours the Green
Hill redoubts. This day they nuintaincd their reputation. Colonel
Savadsky was at their head, and, waving his sword, he cheered on his
men, showing the way liy actually riding into the redoubt. Strange
to say, amid the hail of shell and bullets he was unhurt, and, I
followed by Stream* Of bis splendid fellows, the redoubt was in a fei
minutes in their hands. A new redoubt in the wood, hidden
the trees, was unmasked, and it was ordered to be assaulted,
ensued a terrible struggle ; too close quarters had been reac
for musketry fire, and the battle became a bayonet fight of
bloodiest character. In the centre and on the left of the Rus
line success was no less certain. The key to the centre of
Turkish position was a small redoubt perched on a peninsula forme

in of no great depth, but running in a broad bed.
redoubt was likewise the scene of a terrific struggle, in
both sides lost heavily. Within a radius of thirty yards aoo Turk
were found slain, while the Russian dead were scarcely less numer
( inward* the Russians pressed, and, following up with stern dete
nation their advantage, one after another of the redoubts fell
thea hasd& The Turks retreated to the wood, and, sheltered byi

andtht Mb, kept up their fire. The Russians |

them thither, and as on the right (lank, so everywhere, the lui
developed itself into a bayonet charge. It may be asked what I
become all this time of Prince Mirsky's force. It had succeeded
overcoming the difficulties of the Maglis Pass, and had advanced
the 27th to the attack on n ; hut the latter had met Mi

with a Stubborn Doe, and, Scobicleff being as yet uo

join in the Bttai k, the combination (ailed. As wc have seen, Scobiel
came on the scene on the *Sth, and engaging Vessel Pasha,

Senow and Shipka Ransiled.

101

{meal had to withdraw from the pursuit of Musky, who had
been compelled to retire. Now Mirsky, informed of the result of
SoobielcrT's attack, readvanced, and joining hands with SCObideff by
nests of the cavalry along the Kazanlik road, the Muscovite com-
tuodcrs completely enclosed the Turkish troops and compelled
then to surrender. Forty-nine thousand prisoners were taken, tao
:U standards, and 13 pastas. The victory was complete and
thanks to the energy and genius of Scobielefl". Hut at what
»k*i!— a fifth of the total men engaged; which make* It, 1 I
the Woodiest battle of the century— certainly of the last forty years.

To return to toy former narrative. Our littl. nu early

wir, and a universal demand was made for coffee, which was ipi

■Mfht by sonn While the refreshing was being

dacaaed by the staff, I tuoUed to the outskirts of the wood to ta

wrtcy at leisure of the position of which I hail heard so much.

Wait was my astonishment to find that this WIS the very same wood

in •bich, one night in |S77, a companion and myself,

ih an oui picket oi dragoons, had been lost for many

Ikws: We had been flying from the pursuit o| the Im:'.:. allfll

Gourko's retreat from his first raid Across the Balkans, In trying to

•»ke a short cut down the Lower Balkans into the valley Of the

Ttodn from the Pass ofDalboka, we had boCOBM sepamtcd from

th« retreating army, and wandered about (Of the bt 1 OJ two days

•aim, >nstant danger of being cut off by ISashi-Ha/ouks.

At bat »c found our way to Kazanlik only to discover, instead of a

hnta of safety, that the town was in possession of brigands, who

flfeaptcd to shoot us. Portunatel) escaping this new danger, wc

pllopcd out of the town and fell in with a vedette ol OBC

of whose number had been shot a few minutes before. Joining their

co*f|*ny. we galloped as hard as our tired horses would permit to

the edge of the wood, where we were received by the uiiu . r in com-

■SBd of the picket, and informed that, if we would ai 1 omp lUy him

m hi» round of duty, he would thereafter lake US with him to the

Ionian camp Wc had to enter the wood to see that all was quiet

'» the villages of SckeTsevo and Scnovo, in which some Turk-

understood to be harboured ; and in the gloomy recesses of the

feat we lost our way. When 1 thought of then and now, the

•orror of the night ride came upon mc with almost all the force of

• present uditwas [ like the relief 1 ed

•ben at last we reached the Russian camp, that I shook off the

Krcric and looked over towards the village of Shipka (now the scene

of desolation) and up to the hoary head of Mount St. Nicholas,

102 The Gentleman's Magazine.

against which Suleiman Paslu in the preceding September bod
unavailingly hurled his battalions, and which had been so heroically
and successfully defended by the Russians under Radetsky. Just at
lhi- 1 1 1 - 1 ■ Scobiclcff came out of his tent, and being joined

by the whole staff we commenced, under his direction, an inspection
in detail of the positions. Wc had only gone a few steps when w C

un a wooden cross erect e. I and I the shadow of a group of
four aprodSng beeches. The General at once uncovered, an exam
whiii. all followed, and stood for a few minutes in all Turning

away, the tiern ml said to me. " Thai is the grave of a hero, and on
the day of the tally ordered that cross to be planted <••

Oil grave so as to mark his last rtsting-pkce 1 1 e was a mere boy
of between 15 and 16, of good family in Russia. During the war,
find by military ardour, and the righteousness of the cav
the armies of Hoi;. caped fit* nd

home and mad< liis (ttj to the Wftt of war. Turning ; 1 na,

I accepted bio as a volunteer, and he fought gallantly and
the great assault an<l sul 1 apture of Osman Pasha

At Slnuvo he led a company of the 3*nd Regiment, and their di
it was to make the attat k < m away by

his enthiiMasm and titt.i ih-r, u.l nf .1 tnger, the brave l>oy •
left 1 considerable escaped the >l

built *J only neted as he entered the redoubt. His watt

brie 1 • ! "

Chief interest MM felt in the positions in the centre and right
flank, and accordingly we directed our steps thither with a cursory
glance at the strength of the line to the left, with its redoubts echeloned
neatly all the way to Shipka. <

centre redoubt on the iittle [»niii '?d I

All KrOnnd the door of the redoubt were scattered broken canisters,
fragments of shell, rags of uniforms, as if the battle had or I
pkee a few days ago. But I was hardly prepared
scene within. Sc had bee) 'juried hei

rain and had beaten aside the I

and dogs had done the rest, and all over the Hon
was I human bones. \

leg bones commit est fashin leached

iark I how their lifeless months grin
breath. Mark ! how and scorn at all

wre wlint you are ! " I luive experience

icdiately aJ
earth wax covered thick with a —"heap

■K

Senovo and Shipka Revisited.

103

and horse, friend and foe;" but it did not possess half the ghastly
horror of this scene sixteen months after war had ceased its tumults
and alarms. General ScobielefT said to me, as we gazed on this
chamd -house, "And this is gtc I responded, "after

all, General, —

The drying up a tingle tear has more

Of htineil Jimc than ihediiing tc*> of gam."

•' You are ri I, " and yet I am nothing but a soldi

Leaving the redoubt, h. Alt two small detachments of soldiers

re|>rcsenting the infantry and rivalry who h:id taken part in storming
these p> ad desired them to accompany us. -i Every one of

these men," he said to 1 wounded in the battle, and they have

a right, as representing their comrades, to take a last look of the
held where they shed their blood." As we crossed into a large
entrenchment, which had offered a stout resistance BO tin Mum
a intuit, and 1 1 boTe marks 01 being the burial-place of many

a brave soldier, we encountered I B» U Hock of sheep, the leader's
bell 'iic morning air, " !•- there not," said C.cneral

Scobiclcff. " something extremely poetical in the idea of these sheep
so peacefully browsing on the grass enriched with human blood ? "
True, and the grass ami wild herbs ova •hii b we train

•mit a sweeter fragrance than elsewhere. Onwards Wt strolled
■ position to stopping every few moments, when the

Oancral. w:tl. faround him, would < strength

relative to other | the method adopted by him in ar-

ranging his attack, and on the reasons why lie made Buch and such
>ns. In fact, the staff throughout the day received on the
spot practical demonstrations of the science of war and the value of

!-conccivcd tactics. By-and-by we came out in the open plain,
when- a monument had been erected commemorative of the battle.
It ii situate*! on the extreme right of the Russian position, and con-
sists of a small marble column, surmounted by across and surrounded
■ rowncd with large cannon-balls. A Russian priest here
donned his robes, lighted I son to

a clerk, began a solemn sen-ice for the repose of the souls of tli< . [1

'icad was uncovered, the party stood in n ipectftol gToups
around the column with its cross— tl tit ol Che

iL The 6un shone in unclouded ir, nature 11 emed

hushed for the moment, and the wl Boated mad

las. I haw 1rgeouscere1non1.il

of continental Catholic cathedrals, — have taken part in the rich ritual
..—have listened to the sonorous mass in a Greek

The Gent Lmau 's Magazine

ivteriu

cathedral, — have u-or shipped in the simple chapels of Pr<
.Scotland, — -but have never been present at a more impressive religious
service than that on the battle-field of Senovo. Creeds and forms
were forgotten in the solemnity of the act and the earnestness and
devotion of the worshippers ; and as the trembling accents of the
priest, with the deep but sweet responses of the dragoon-clerk, were
borne on the still morning air, one could not but hope that "all was
well " with the thousands of brave men who had perished in the
discharge of their duty as soldiers. As the service progressed, th
General wept like a child, and among the small but deeply move
congregation there were few dry eyes, albeit these hardy and some
times rough warriors are seldom used to the melting mood. One
and all advanced and reverently kissed the cross extended to thci
by the priest, and thus was brought to a close a service touching in
its inception and the simple manner in which it was carried out.
lint with a soldier weeping may only endure for a moment,
lenenl gave the signal "to horse." All were speedily mounte
enc of ScobielefTs celebrated white chargers being provided for me
The brief emotion of the hour appeared to be dissipated in a sr
gallop to the south-west, where wc came to the great rcdoub
stormed by the 6ist Regiment Wc rode to the crest of the tumulu
and sun-eyed the field with astonishment that such a sccmingt;
impregnable position should be taken by an army inferior in numbe
and without artillery. Then wc turned into the wood, and inspecte
the masked redoubts and the theatres of the bayonet fights, wher
cinpseb had at the end of the day been piled on each other four an
five deep. In shady glades were long lines of trenches, where
brave fellows had found hasty burial, and it was without regret
wc left the deeply interesting but melancholy spot. Once more
in the open, the General conducted his staff over the plain whic
separate lleinedli from Senovo, |>ointing out how, even in such
exposed situation, infantry may find shelter from the searching
of an enemy, and how important it was for him to have his
posted pretty safe from fire, and yet at hand. A brief cxami:
having been made of the trenches, by means of which his
flank had been secured in the early part of the day, and which Ic
as fresh a* if only raised a week ago, wc rode up to the village
Hcmcdli, which commanded a front view of the whole hattle-f
A halt was called, and the General once more proceeded to deliver]
discourse on the strategy and tactics he had adopted, and themann
in which all such position | dtoold be attacked. An ascent was nc
made into the Pass of Hcmcdli, in order that we might observe

."vo and Skipka Revisited.

105

difficulties which General Scobiclcff and his troops had to mi OUntM
in ihcir passage of the Balkans in mid-winter. The MOM was,
even to begin with, pretty steep, and wound round the shoulder of a
ridge which projected into the plain. For many miles the pat]
sufficiently broad to admit of two horses going abreast ; but it was
explained to me that this roadway had been constructed by Russian
engineers subsequent to the battle for the passage of the guns which
tad been abandoned in the mountains. At one point, where the
ridge, so to speak, joins the main range of mountains, the path was
iJoog the brink of a pro «e bottom could not be seen, and

it was a iew yards from this spot that tl. >ief of the staff

bid been wounded. Then the path became a mere track through
deep glens, and anon along the brow of steep mountains covered
withoak scrub, and with the wild brier and ro delightful

perfume filled the air. Three hours of such riding brought us tO I
deep defile, in the bottom o( which coursed a small stream, which in
■alanine becomes a raging torrent. Here icrab gave plaot to
luge forest tree whole mountain sides. At M«

bead of this defile all farther progress appeared to be stopped by a
ptdpitous difl at least 150 fen high it WBI because of this
•ppwently impenetrable barrier that the Turks never dreamt that
Scobideff would choose the Pass, and hence it was their non-oceu pa-
nto of the surrounding heights which enabled the Russian Gi
b> accomplish the passage of the Balkans. Long before this, we had
beta compelled to go in Indian file, and at many of the turning-
(Oats it was only the sure-fuotedness of our horses which prevented
01 being precipitated into an abyss of unknown depth, "But,"
aid I to the General, "how was it possible for infantry, much less
tofravalry, to overcome that ob pointing to the cliff. " All

»n*ji arc possible to determined men," replied he. "The men
on* down round by the sides on hands and knees, as we will do
fweatly, and I will fthi low we got our cavalry down,"

IWiounting from our hones, we tied ova ihefa ne is,

bjoke a brandi from a tree at hand, and with many Mhei hi
*»»e them up the j slope. their fore*feet finnly

o the soil, • their hind progressed

•ondrrful rate. Sometimes,!! doubled under,

**i hack they woukl roll down the slope till, mayhap, • tughl
bysoeflc tree-trunk. It • for himself, Scrambb'ng on

bads and knee a horse threatened

'u roil down upon you, ■ Dewing

tk laborious ascent, at length a dozen ol us gained the summit of

106

The Genlletnaris Magazine.

ss that 1
success

the cliff, which we had circumvented ; and I must confess
bowed before the genius and daring of a Gcncial who could
fully conduct an expedition through such places, and over such, to
ordinary human judgment, insurmountable obstacles. Horsc9 and
men alike were permitted to enjoy half an hour's well-earned rest —
the horses in cropping the grass, and the men in discussing the
situation. I have seen the Shiplca Pass, the Hani Kioj Pass, the
Hani Bogas Pass, and the Hemedli Pass, and am perfectly con-
vinced, with General Obroutcheff, that the Balkans can never be
regarded more as a barrier to invasion from the North, and it is
worse than useless to regard them as of the strategic importance
whii-h some modern statesmen do. The whole army which Turkey
could put into the field could not hold them against a determined
enemy, led by such Generals as Gourko and Scobiclcff. When we
had been sufficiently rested, a commencement was made with the
descent. First of all, the horses were collected and one by one
driven to the side of the cliff, where the ground slopes somewhat.
Planting their four feet together, the wise brutes allowed themselves
to slide down, guiding themselves with wonderful instinct, and taking
advantage of any little shelving places to slop for a minute. Withe
accident, all reached the bottom of the defile, and began to
'puctly along the track. "It was thus that twenty squadrons
cavalry were able to accompany me to Senovo," said General
bicleff. The descent of the men w:is as precarious as the ascc
but that, too, was accomplished in safety, and we set out on I
retUn journey to Hemedli- For the most part that was done
foot, the horses following in our tracks. It was far on in the
noon before we retched the plain of the TOndaL "We must
for Kazanlik at a gallop," said General Scobieleff, "as I h«t
meet there General Obroutcheff, who comes to read the
Proclamation to (be people of this district. " Off, then, we set at i
gallop Itndght across country. To say that the ride was a rot
one, would be bat B trite description. True, there were no fenc
but the lack of these obstacles was more than made Up tor
marshes, streams, drains, dry water-courses, while care had to
t ik -ii of innumerable fox- and badger-holes. I am a fairly
horseman, but 1 confess 1 should have been utterly beaten off had it
not been for two incidents. The first was the starling of a
when, with a halloo which would have startled a huntsman ol
shires, nine-tenths of the stall went alter it at full gallop. RevciK
were drawn and Hying shots taken at the quarry, which, howev
ran to earth in a tumulus. This hunt, and a later one, in whic

Senovo and Shipka Revisited. 107

•, only a few of the more ardent spirits took part, reminded
me of a very curious incident at the battle of Dzuranli, and con-
firmed the reputation which Russians enjoy of being a nation of
sportsmen. At the battle the reserves were placed by Gourko in rear
of three large mounds, on one of which the General, with his staff, was
stationed, and from which I also watched the progress of the fight.
At perhaps the most critical period of the battle, and when the
Russian attack on the Turks in the wood was being driven back,
md while the whole field was being ploughed with shells, a hare
stated from the base of one of the mounds. In a moment,
regardless of danger, and forgetful of discipline, scores of men gave
ekast to puss out into the open, with shrieks and shouts, and were
is no way deterred from the pursuit by the shrapnel which were
busting round them. They were only stayed in their chase and
bsssjgbt to their senses by orderlies despatched by General Gourko.
Intfcesaroc way I was struck with amazement, in the retreat across
Slipka, that the foot-sore and treaty men should forget their present
dattwses and griefs in a momentary hunt after a hare which crossed
4ar path on tli-. :•! Mount -St. Nicholas. Hut, to cease

0m digression, the other incident which enabled me to keep up with
lie cavalcade was that, in crossing a stream, half of them floundered
in a deep morass, and a search had to be made for a ford. It was
a o'clock before we arrived at Kazanlik, and after a ride through its
ramed streets, we discovered breakfast i !) set for us in a marquee
prtched on the I I pretty stream. With appetites sharpened

br » ten hours' ride, wc made a vigorous attack upon the edibles ; but
tW pleasant reunion was broken up by a severe thunderstorm, which
l»oke overhead with all the suddenness characteristic of the Balkan
Kpon, and, swamping our pretty camp, compelled us to search for
lodgings in the tow n.

n one of unclouded splendour, and early in the
Borning a move was made to the meadows west of the town, where
» triumphal arch had been erected, around which had congregated
Ac whole people of the district in their picturesque national costume.
The niton d'etre of the assembly was the reading of the Pro-
(fenution of the Csai Ol Russia, counselling peaceful behaviour to
the Bulgarians. General ObroutcherT, the Imperial Commissioner,
et arrival at the spot, was literally bespattered with Mowers. And
sere let me say that the sentiment of the custom, universal in
fttlgaria. of offering flowers to strangers, is extremely pretty. Alter
GcBeral Obroutcheff had read the Caar's address, he made a short
speech on the same lines of peaceful policy ; and then there ensued

io8

The Gentleman s Magazine.

a mass performed by the Bulgarian clergy. The scene and ihe
occasion were interesting. In the afternoon General Obroutchetf
took his departure for Timova, and an excursion was made to the
Shipka Pass and Mount St. Nicholas. These points arc already «
familiar, from frequent descriptions, that I need say little regarding
them. The village of Shipka is yet a mass of ruins, and the road up
the mountain to St. Nicholas is now in fairly good condition ; the
celebrated emplacements and batteries on the crest of the pass arc
still entire, but cannon frown no more from the embrasures. The
plateau, overlooked on the southern side of St. Nicholas, is one vast
cemetery, where repose the ashes of the brave defenders of the pas*;
and lower down are the graves of the no less intrepid assaulting
Turks who fell. These mounds could not but be regarded wita
emotion ; and I entirely sympathised with the indignation cxpressel
against a proposal that the dead must be disturbed, because tnetf
last resting-place is looked upon by some Turcophilc miliurr
engineers as of some remote strategic importance. With thoughtful
and graceful feeling, General ObroutchcfT ordered that the gnu a
should be preserved and planted with flowers. Adieus were did,
the General continued his way into the Bulgarian principality, and
we returned to Kazanlik.

W. KINNAIKl)

log

STRA IV BERRIES.

BOTH history and Story are almost silent on the subject of straw-
berries. Perhaps all our readers, with the exception of the
Insistent antiquary, will rejoice at the prospect of freedom from
Biaay allusions to Greek and Roman customs or banqtl It the

i»e time fed an indefinite pride in the COnSCtOUSaeSS thai On this
point tt least, they have an immense advantage over the epicures of
Rome; for though Hdiogabarui may have feasted on nightingales'
tongues and peai ins, yet we maintain, in spite of M. Alexis

Soyer, that the most luxurious of the Emperors never tasted ■ dish
of itrawberrics and cream. The author of the 1'antropheon, whose
dfom brought about *o much improvement in out English misiiif,
ttd from whose generally accurate work so much inhumation is to be
pfaed, has committed several errors in his account of the Straw-
kwy as known to the indents.

The passage in the (hef's work runs as follows : —

ftath lh« Greeks and the Latins were equally fond of the strawberry, am!
•WW the hdc care to its cultivation. Virgil appears to place it in the «am*
"& rti flowers, and Ovid i;i»c» It a lender epithet which delicate palates would
•stduarw. Neither does this luxurious poet forget the wild strawberry, which
*"ppurj beneath its modest foliage, but whose presence the scented air reveals.
Tnajferted to (be tables of the I.uculli. by the side of its more brilliant and more
fauUW sister, a flattering murmur often bore testimony to its merit, and nature
**»f«*4 la the midst of ingenious guesta, soliciting of ait wbat they repudiated
■ u>

: lately, none 0/ lade in the above p

•Vaebori bavenoi ' all th.u thestraw-

berr)"< r theGreeksor the Romans; and in \ H

•Otictof th> poet in a well-known passage couples it v,nh

fcwen— not choice flowers of a cultivated garden, but with

*ikl Mowers which would afford a likely lurking-place to the

■At

• jitls flora, et humi nascentia fraga,

l-oeri, fugitc hinc, latet anguis in herba.'

IfU, Etl. iii. 9»-

TJu GnUL

In the fint<
I;

izr:?z (Km —

although die epithet ■ mtUm." soft, debate, nay be
compliment to a stiawbuiy, yet the pmfirartno in the

M born 'neath the sylian shade " i^inft rjBatstakably to
wood strawberry, and not to the " note briBaat and mote
sister," whose existence in classic times b psxeJy imaginary.

The other pumfe from Ovid—

Arbascn fixtM, Tinti—HT (aft legato,1
while of coarse lefetnng to the wud strawberry, ts iatcmti;
much as it couples together two product* of the vegetable kingd
which, though they hare nothing botankally in common, yet t
bear the name of strawberry in modern times, and are also assocal
together in Pliny — viz. the Artitms, and the Fragaria minima
collina of the poet. The handsome cricaceous shrub, which is
fortunately becoming quite rare in England, but whose rosi
beauties visitors to the Lakes of Killarney in the late autumn can
fail to appreciate, has of course no affinity with the plant from wi
scarlet berries it has assumed the popular name of strawberry-t
which, though a misnomer, is to be preferred to the false quail
committed by the many who talk as persistently of the arbutus
they do of the gladiolus, much-wronged flower ! Another name
Latin (or the arb-.it u-. ii the untJo, to which the fanciful ti>
has been assigned of " one bite and one bite only," in allusion i
disappointing flavour of the fruit.

/■'ruga, the Latin name for the strawberry, as well as Fr\
modem botanical equivalent, is most probably derived
I /rajcre," to emit a smell. Philologists m

this etymon ; enough for us that it has the authority
case of its modem derivatives in the graceful Romance Ian
/raise, fragola,Jresa ; and that nostrils not employed in si
etymological errors too keenly can still enjo;.
warrants the deduction.

thus shown that the so MS unknown

ancients at a cultivated fruit, we may pass <
and emerge in the fifteenth century, when horticulture began

-daaasri
flourished li woods — n food for peasants— .

time when its leaves should become \vinl

' OvW, AM. sul. 816.

r.jaa,

Strawberries.

daobihty, and its fruit strike the fancy of an unscrupulous prince when
ndag to a throne through a deep current of blood. Wc, of course,
lUodeto the well-known episode in the play of •' Richard III. " in
•rod Gloucester, when intent on murderous designs against Hastings,
tens to the Bishop of Ely. and says : —

My I.ord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn,
I taw good strawberries in your garden (here ;
I do beseech you, send for soma of them.'
Xow, this incident is taken almost verbatim from Holinthcd, and
prom that strawberries must hav itcd in gardens as

odj as 1480. Just | garden of forty acres on the north side

of Holborn, nearly opposite the spot where Allien the Good now
tnceasingly bows his com] to the i«sscr-by on the VI*

TVhst v<. ly House has disappeared ; and, though London

d)« 001 draw its main supplies of strawberries from localities far
Iron its centre, yet it has to search rather farther from the General
Po« Office dun High Holborn. A hundred years later Uian
Rxhird III.'s days, there was, moreover, a garden in Holborn, then
*e sou aristocratic part of London, amongst whose products
fair kinds of strawberries arc mentioned. This garden was the
property of Gerard(e), the celebrated barber-surgeon and herbalist,
•to bad charge of Lord Burleigh's gardens in die Strand, and of those
heobalds. The description and the woodcuts of strawberries in
« work do not agree very accurately ; and we think, besides,
mistake has been made in the •' Catalogue of Plants in Gerard's
recently edited by Mr. B. D. Jackson, in classing the three
1, which Gerard distinguishes a* rubra, alba, and suhiriiis, all
•opthtr as Fragaria virpmana : at that date they cannot have been
VirjjnJan at all.
Another allusion to strawberries in Shakespeare occurs in
. ' act L scene 1, when, speaking of the young king, the
IHibop.. :—

The ilfiwlicny grow* underneath the nettle ;

1
' Ktitont III. ai ' 4.

■xiy on this passage that ibi inee

f tie remand collitatot of these strawberries ii also recorded by the audior of
ipby on tbc same lotted in Ike BritiA Mtueom i
•• Qtensii amines s*ni»r acnem quia,
-nem labor dceet; fer.int hortum ui
I>ccora (raja •/

atii)
jod mens
■ l<acit : easel tantiut vcllem mini
Quosimtlbigratus."

no too

«Theot
Ceard'n
Qatami

GMta,"

I I 2

The Gentleman s Magazine.

where the wild wood strawberry is of course referred to by the
bishop, who thus likens the good qualities which lie beneath the
surface of the king's character to the charms of the fruit which m
overshadowed by noxious weeds. The remaining reference i» in
" Othello," in which Desdemona's handkerchief plays such a falil
part in the dlrwuemtnt of the drama : —

/age. Have you not sometimes seen » handkerchief,

Spotted with strawberries, in your wife's, hind?
Othello. I give her such n one, 'twos, my first gift.
bft. I know not that : but such a handkerchief
(I am sure it was your wife's) did I to-day
See CMSo wipe In* bean! with,

Tin- fetal embroidery of green leaves and scarlet berries all loo
readily attracted attention to the Moor's first love-gift, and tended to

n Dcsdemona's doom, whilst by this simple expression, "sp
with strawberries," the poet created an irrefutable fiitt <it cot

During the first half of the sixteenth century we find no rdeJJtW
of the berry of our theme, and very little is known of the ttaKJ
horticulture in general in England previous to the '
Henry VIII. ; even at that time the London market was
supplied with culinary vegetables from Holland. This mon
gardener introduced various fruits, salads, and potherbs, and cultivaM
them in the garden of Nonsuch, in Surrey, together, as it is gene
■apposed, with the apricot and Kentish cherry.1 During Elix
reign large quantities of fruit were imported into England, chie
from the I/Ow Countries; but no reference is found to strawh
inasmuch as this fruit is ill-suited for transit from distant count!
and the Fragaria vrsra flourished equally well here as on the Co
nent ; and this, and its congeners, were still the only species kno
to the Old World, in spite of the discovery of the New a I in
years before.

Spenser and Sir Philip Sidney both allude to strawberries, i
the latter is the earliest writer who mentions the inimitable comb
tion of Strawberries and cream. " But there he found Phalantl
already wailing for him upon a horse milk-white, but that
his shoulders and withers he was freckled with red stains, as when a
few strawberries are scattered into a dish of cream." * In the " Fairie
Quccne " it is again the wood strawberry we find : —

One day, as they all three together went
To the greenr wood to Rather strawbcrriM,
There thaunst to them x dangi i nt.»

' QturtiHy AVtwsv, JanaarY l8jl. " Kisc and Progress of Hortic-jltuie."
• AtoJui, book :ii. ' Fairit Qinetie. book vl canto x. stanza |

Strawbtrrus.

113

I Tkis accident consisted in a tiger making its appearance on the

I atne, which would have made short work of PfestoreUa had not

Cilidore engaged and slain the animal with hi-, shepherd's hook ;

*Usz Condon ignominiously turned tail and Bed Truly a most

opportune beast !

Early in the seventeenth century the American Virginian straw-
berry was introduced into both France and England, ami probably
■» Western Europe generally. The new-comers do not appear,
owrevcr, to have thriven, and nearly two centuries had still to elapse
before, by means of seedlings and b ■ urn, our gardeners pro-

fited the magnificently improved fruit which now gratifies all our
sttses but hearing ; for who has not wished during the strawberry.
Stuootbat we heard of the fruit a little less in the vernacular of the
CMtermonger ? To the ante-American period, by the reference to
the kbicat of the stran berry, if not by its date of composition,
Weogs the nursery ballad in which the man of the wilderness is
aftjected to the withering retort, abounding in Attic salt, but not
owe severe than such an ultra-marine question deserved :—
The man of the wilderness asked me
How many strawberries grew in the sea j
I answered him as I thought good,
" As many red herrings as grew in the wood. "
Henry Buttes, in his very interesting ffOfk, "Dyet's Dry Dinner"
iocs not allude to stranl>crTies at all, though most other !:
>* Mentioned. Caspar Bauhin, in bis 'Mina.x," mentions but five
nasties of the berry. It is only in the catalogue of Jean Robin,
taunt to Louis XI II., that the Virginian strawberry is first specified
(1624). Of the date of the middle of the seventeenth
we possess two works which give us engravings of this (hut .
Sough there is some improvement perceptible since the straw-
OS* Gerard's illustrations, yet both in " A Book of Fruits and
"(1653) and "A Booke of Flowers, FruictS, Beastes. Birds,
Fbes" (1671,1, the fruit there depicted is the produce of the
csftrratcd Fragaria Data, and does not attain the size of the very
■(Best V.i In 1656 Parkinson in his work1

■eafcons the Virginian strawberry 1 iy name, but adds that " scarce
ose berry can be seen ripe among a number of plants." He also
describes the Bohemia strawberry, which must have been another
Kara American variety— perhaps the Carolina, agreeing with the
Tfonaa of Evelyn's list,' of which he says : —

Tim tturbcrrjr bath been Willi us but of late dsyes, but is the fOOdl

both for leaf Dcat to the \ ujjinian, ami fur lmuly far surpassing

fana

wucaav.

' Luly edition, 1629.
HO. I?»3- /

• Vide in/nt.

114

The Gentleman's Magazine.

all ; for some of the lorries have been measured lo be five inches about.
Qucstcr, the postmaster, first brought them over to our country.

Another passage from Parkinson shows that the questions of

sexuality of strawberries and of the changes which may supervene in

an hermaphrodite plant through cultivation were but imperfectly

understood by the botanists of that day: —

There is another very like unto this strawberry that John Tradctcant brought
with him from Bntttetl long ago, and in seven year* could never sec one berry ripe
email (idea, Imt Mill ihe linu-i put rotten, although it would llower every year
abundantly, and bear very large leaves.

We find forced strawberries and cherries, as well as ice-cream,
mentioned as being served at the installation dinner at Windsor,
April 23, 1667, from which Daines Harrington conjectures that
houses tnd ice lionr.es were first introduced into England
Charles II. '.s reign ; but the idea of forcing strawberries and 0\
fruits, u well u flowers, had already occurred to the great Lord
Bacon, who writes : —

Av we have housed the exotics of hot countries, lemons, oranges,
myrtles, to preserve them, 10 we may house our native* to forward then ; II
thus have violets, straw berries, and ptMIHI nil winUr, provided they be
:nnl motajd al proper time*,

In his •' French Gardiner " (1672), John Evelyn enumerates
kinds of strawberries — tlie white, the large red, the capprous, and
the (mall red srHd strawberry. Of these the first two are the Virgi
thought nothing being said as regards the size of the first, it n
tfas, white Alpine the third is the Hautbois, and of tht
says:—

Concerning these last sorts, which are the anta.ll, you need not pot
to the trouble of cultivating llicm |i fOU live near the woods, whete they a!
for the children of every village will bring them to you for a very small re'
And In ease you be far from these pretty mutt, you may furnish some
<arptli of them on the sides of some of your ali<ys, without other care or
than to plant them.

. , bowi 1 kinds in his " Kalendarium

tense," of which a list IS subjoined.1

Din ighteenth century no marked imj

meal took place in erry culture. The Jragaria

but it did not prove generally successful, nor

did the J-iagaritt ekilittuii for some time aftci its introduction into

ipe. This strawberry was brought to France in the year 1716,

and by a curious coincidence its introducer bore the appropriate

name of Frtitir. Seven plant-; were shipped from Chili, and were

4-
Ked.

1 I. Common Wood. 2. Knglish Garden.
Potonian (probably the Bohemia of Parkinson).
7. The Green Strawberry, 8. Scarlet, ic

3. American, iw '■
5. White Coped. 6.

j'li;:|-

. Le«f

Straw&et

c Old World by water which M.
itit) nietcd out to the ship's com-
pany and passengers owing to a shortness of supply. This Chili
sin* berry was probably transported by the Spanish colonists from
original habitat was tl a shores of the American

tumiocnt. This variety is probabl) the parent of the Califomian
species, and ' modern

■t origin, and the pine-flsTOured sa wherries in
jeatnl certainly trace descent from tfats Stock. M. Frexier, who
tnjBieer to the French king, gave U Imported plants \Q M.

eu, who succeeded in cultivating the (kSiauis with

kr success in the royal gardens. In 1727 the Chili strawberry
islrodaced into England, but froi hardener's Dictionary"

(ftuli|i Miller) we gather that the new arrival was not undu:.i
•atiiwwijxiently did not flourish. He says s— ■

HJ» 1 1 the European kin J in having larger, thicker, anil

■W luirj leave* ; tbe froil is generally as large ai a walnut, and sometime* as
'<(Obi hen egg. of a ■■■ colour, ami > micnhat less delicious in la<le

■Wanwoii-1 I brought tome of the in Holland, anno

:>n4 lucre*** exceedingly ; but as yet I hare obtained no fruit.
Ifcttga the lost season, anno 1 729, they produced great numbers of Doners.

In ljnglcy'i " Pomona " (1729) only three kinds are mentioned,
ftooir, : been introduced tiro years previously. The

f'tpr irinam strawberry, it by some reckoned as

Irjvation in this country w is
•Kancnded with much sue ess in ■ i-nth ceni 1 ,1,

•thing m 1. rawberries and cherries had l>ccn

sated by manure heat from time immemorial by the tandon market
palmers. At die beginning of the eighteenth century, however,
feat seem* to have existed a prcju nst the employaent of

■nsse in the growtlt of strawberries, for we find that d M

k* ns commenced by the landlord against a Dutch gardener who
°*e to England in the reign of Queen Anne and settled on

•xlull and 1 mtchman

arid view* in jio\ is age on the subject oflujuid manure; but

*t tat not allow «e short-sighted times the land

been reserved for almost our own
|E*nr 1I1 in tbe principles of Mechi and lose

ugnancc to thi whilst degluting our doubtfully

•mllen berries,

Tbe above discursion on manure is gathered from the late Mr.
•mphlet on thc"Cultur iwberryi" and, whilst

fauy acknowledging all that growers of t e fruit owe lo the ejffcnva

The Gentleman's Magazine.

gad experience of the producer of the ui.uk Prince, w cannot:

clinch attention to the second paragraph of bil pamphlei, which ft
mast quote in extenso, as it contains two error* which it is desirable
to set right:—

The slrawlierry up \» the lime ol the Dutch pudi-nerV arrival in F.njUnd
was caller! uioodkirty. One year a very heavy haiUtnrm came OV0 1-ondoo, ttt
spoiled all the wocdUrrici with grit and mould ; next year the gardeners laid IU*
under them, and from that time they have been called sltaxuberrie;.

I In first reading this passage, our antiquarian soul was filled wi!
delight at the prospect of discovering numerous ]xassagts in English
authors prior to the time of the Dutch gardener, in which this nc»
and pretty word "woodberry" occurred, but ere long it flislied
across us that Spenser, Sidney, Shakespeare, Bacon, had talked of
itrawbtrritt, but never mentioned woodberries ; whilst » short
Kteareh Sufficed to show that all writers on horticultural subjects lad
invariably made use of the name by which wc know the berry, and »
more exhaustive investigation has not led to the discovery of one
single passage in which the word "woodberry" is used-1 Therefore
neither the arrival ol the Dutch gardener with his advanced views on
manuring nor the very heavy hailstorm which one year came over
London can have brought about a change of nomenclature what
there was no change to effect. Strawberries the berries were before,
and strawberries they still remain.

Secondly, the practice of laying straw under the plants in order to
protect the berries from die effects of heavy showers of rain «*
.lent in both France and England long before the time of Queen
Anne ; though the protection was not so necessary with the stnw
berrii irlid times as with our heavily fruited, low k'"*-' •■

modern kinds. Keats, in the " Song to Pan "in " Endymion," allodel
with much truthfulness to nature and quaintness of rhyme to •**
habit of the strawberry : —

Low-creeping strawberries
1 1 1 ■ i r -.umnicr coolness ; pent-up butterflies
Tlnir freckled wingi.

But the fruit was called by us English by the name of " :
long before any patent slug-traps or truss-sccurcr*
thought expedient for the well-being of the fruit. It has been i
futably proved that the origin of the syllable " straw " is die Anglc-S*
" stm/ien, to strew, to scatter," and that the fruit is called
berry; or straying berry, from the erratic nature of its runners.

1 Itbpottlblc that such a word may haw been In GollOQuU usage, I
troukJ be ii-.'tereiliug to find any authority for the same.

Strawberries.

117

tunic blunderer like Home Tooke do.> not err on ni
teeaingly palpable qucition as this, and gives the etymology cor-
i Duchesne has, like the majority of men where

pWology is concerned, fallen into the specious blunder. Just fancy,
hoci-cr, an English philologist seriously attempting to explain the
nunc by the fact that village children were in the habit of gathering
Hxfivgar; nit on " straws" with a view

tonic! Docs DOt the though! Bt once remind one of barbarous
uaoolboys with hall tigs? or, if the more poetic view

betoken, of buttercup and daisies well Angered by rustic maids?

his suggestion is actually put forward as an alternative in a most

evdlcnt American brv<fiurt, " The Illustrated Strawberry Culturist,"

Puller — a work which contains a great deal of valuable

nfanrulion about the fruit, without being overburdened by tcchni.

alhie*

Hi the beginning of the present century the strawberry bi

■■ume the proud position which it now maintains amongst
fsffcili fruits. The first marked improvements [•rn.lueedwere si
lepRom American species : thi Rosebeny in l8so j the Downtoo,
is tti Grove End Scarlet in iS:o; I ing in

Elton Pine in 1828 ; whilst • llowed shortl}

•ndswith nil Pine, Prince Albert, Eliza, ami r.ritish Queen. Since
<1< appearance of these improved kind* various seedlings and hybrids
•aw been produced, which it would exceed our Space even to cnumc-
nit Some havi ledagreat ent reputation, whilst

*bcr- 11 raised which have been /bund not 10 repay 1 nitiv.i

in the year 1824 the
Botanical Society of London instructed Ml

prdener in the Fruit Detriment at Chiswick.to draw up a ti port of
tkt different kinds of strawberries cultivated in i the

'sssied Kirtgdom. Market-gardeners and amateur growers were
■aduojd to fill in scheduled form?, in which were noted the name,
1 btn 1 ter, history, Sc , ol the v iri ■■ ■ I inds they possessed, and after*
wards in send runners of all the varieties they had mentioned, which
«oc planted at Chiswick and carefully compared and class!

trawberrics submitted to his investigation

ia»o seven classes, which will be found to closely coincide with the

ins of the botanist Jacques Gay, which have been accepted

Lambcrtyc in his admirabl praph on the strawberry-

which arc thus enumerated. Mr. Bamet describes twenty-

•i* kinds of scarlet, five of black, fifteen of pine, three of Chili, and

Il8 T/w Gentleman's Magazine.

five of 11 iv seems then to have \-

a great favourite I
docs not posses BJOCh flavour.

a very excel)' ilreudy long estabh i>&

The highest | led to Wilmot's Superb, which is 3 de-

scendant of the true CI. is v.itli the Roscbcrry. Mr. Barnet

remarks that the Chili has lost its faults in its son, « hoastof

beauty, productiveness, colour, and flavour, whilst some of the be"
ute 6J inches in circumfcrcnoc.

From the great variety of kinds transmitted to Chiswick for in-
vestigation, it may be inferred that improvement and extension in
Stl&wbenj culture was rapidly becoming prevalent throughout Eng-

d, Utd that early in try London began largely to appeal

to the fruit -resources of the country, and to absorb nearly all the
produce of her suburbs. In the Saturday Afagatim for June 1834
then is an interesting account of strawberry culture in the nci
l.ipinhood of London, and the description is noteworthy as referring
1 intermediary period in the history of the berry. Wc learn that
in that yeai thousands of persons, principally women, gained their
livelihood by occupations connected with strat ilture, which

. ma prim ipaUy eai within a radius •

:iie western side of the im unpolis. Isleworth, Brentford, ICaling,
!I.u- ird, Mortfake, lla> MB>

veil arc mentioned u pi .md the n

trader cultivation is estimated at 1,000 acres. Nowadays the main
supply comet from rather fartlm si the western suburbs,

and tin.- ud " especially is I 1 heavy con-

tribuOOfli for strawberries as well as e of Bc>

in Kent in;!;, rded as the great centre growth

for the supply of the London market .llndc to,

only did women gather the Brail with their deft fingers, and stow it
away delicately bo the pottles, but others 01 « carried the

fruit I. u I illy and steadily to their ultimate desiirui

Thus, in those pre-railway days, the berries were damaged and
■nested about as little as possible ; though

discovered that the pottle was a mistake, and that form of Insfcct
has consequently given place to the pun
relationship to the pottle that the nv
to the old-f.
was so far more

guest These pottle-baskcvs, like tl t run-

branch of strawberry industry. Brentford wa . W-

Strawbcrrus. 1 19

litu of the manufacture, and hundreds of women and children were
employed in the process. Both forms of baskets have to pass
through several hands ; the woods employed in their manufacture are
deal and willow, tl. the rnost itmw-

bctty gatht illy from the west— from Worcester-

Shropshire, and Wales— whither they return in time for
own corn harvest, with a goodly nest-egg as the result of the C
berry harvest.

:1c by little, the strawberry has attained the perfection
now delights us. If what Dr. Hoteler said of strawberries —
biles* God could have made a better berry, but
• lid" — were true in olden d. -ndisputabiy is the

tion admissible now. People may say what they like about the
juiperior flavour of the old wild or the scmi-i ultivatcd Jfefj
but may wc and our friends always sec before us on our di

• a dish of ireU-ripened Myall's llritish Queen or

flavoured Dr. Hogg ! Occasionally one comes across a true Haut-

bois, with its voluptuous muscat flavour, which makes one for a time

forget one's debt of gratitude to the New World, or a plate of Alpine

strawberries and cream on a sultry August afternoon may lead one

10 temporarily waver 111 one's allegiance to the noble berries which

have graced our dessert -tables and tickled our |>alates during the

earlier sunm. r ; but still we think the assertion is correct that it is

D the course n entury that man has. learned what

■ strawberry really meant. Who the Dr. Boteler was who made the

profound Kflnrk we have jost quoted il a matter of considerable

; but possibly he was Dr. William Butler, an eminent

ID in bis day. It is ft attributed to Ixaak Walton

if, but it is only quoted in the "Compl where

Piscator says, " Indeed, my good scholar, we may say of angling,

Bolder said of strawberries — 'Doubtless God could have

made a better berry, but doubtless God never did;' and so, it" I might

be judge, God never did make a more calm, quiet, innocent rccrca-

ilusn angli'

'lite strawberry is not only endowed with many virtues on which it

would be superfluous todescant, but is remarkable, moreover, fora happy

frcrd> ice. It docs not, like the melon or the pine-apple,

require caution on the pan of those devotees who are liable to suffer

11 gastronomic pleasures ; it does not, like the grape,

tnent of what to do with 1 »nd pips;

whilst it presents no difficulty, like the cherry, on the subject of

which have either to be discreetly funnelled on to the dessert -plate

120

The Gentleman's Magazine.

through the hollowed hands, or boldly swallowed after the manner of
the fearless and omnivorous Teuton ; there is no danger, as with the
peach or 00 I llini , of the treacherous was]) lurking amidst itslu

:!] , for thftt most justly anathematised insect has scarcely begun
to run its course of awe-inspiring rapine : an immaculate bee has
been observed in deep .mention to the charms of a Black Prince, but
it must have been a bee led astray by U over-admiration of the for-
bidden. Like other fruits in song and fable, the earth beTry, by the
wry nature of its growth, conveys its lesson of humility ; and the
haughtiest and gouticst monarch, would he gather a strawberry him-
self, must literally stoop to conquer. This moral lesson begins we
own, to be somewhat trying to the back after one has passed the
grand climacteric ; but then everybody of that age who has a straw-
lied has a wife and daughters to gather the fruit for him. or, at
any rate, he ought to have.

So free from deleterious qualities is the strawberry, and so whole-
some is the fruit in it* action, that the most re.strit ted and cross-grained
doctor cannot allege anything to its demerit. No acetous lerroent-
ation ensues from the process oi digestion, and no ill effects follow
t COPIOUS repast. l'eih.i;is at this point a few remarks regarding the
m.ilii inal properties of the strawberry may not prove uninteresting to
our readers. In kettnet's " Hook of the Table " the following quota-
tion occurs from AherCfOfflbie : — " Physicians concur in placing straw-
berries in the ir small catalogue of pleasant remedies, They dissolve
the tartarcous incrustations of t he teeth. They promote perspiration.
Persons afflicted with gout have found relief from using them ; so have
patients in case of the stone; and Hoffman states that he has known
consumptive people cured by them." Amongst this category of
■ native properties that which refers to the gout has been the roost
satisfactorily authenticated. No less an authority in the botanical
world than the great I.innxus attributed his own cure from podagra to
the effect of strawberries; and in the Edinburgh Rniew for July t8o6
there occurs an extract from the " Amccnitatcs Academicae," in which
an account is given of the circumstances under which the fruit proved
of such singular service to the great botanist, and which induced him
to recommend it to arthritic patients in general : —

II appears thai aboajl Iha mil of June 1750 he experienced »o rioteot a*
attack a» to b( un;iblr Id tile* cither RipOM or noun -inn, "1 (,>r a fortnight j awl

he couiil 'mi .vi-n kit;, in. tiii quiet '«■ minute* at •■ lime. A plaw of itnt-
berries having been accidentally brought to him whilst he win in thit anllciwl
•laic, they proved to be the only article that was at all grateful to hU palate, and,
after rating them, he slept »ome hours, the only time during the fourteen days of
bit illness. When he awoke, he ate more strawberries ; and. having again good.

Strawberries.

121

bary *J

slo-pfron midnight tantil the next morning, lie found himself well enough lo leave
kaW,»r/i, in fact, experienced no pain whatever, though (he disease had of
two* dtUKi.' uremely. The fallowing year Ihc goal came on again

•but Ihr aw period ; and our invalid being then at liroliniiighi.ini. his pale,
Mdly cruntcnonce Uracil the ijueen, who very condescendingly inquired what ho
«MU take. Linn<rns replied. " Sfrmattrritt,' which were not to Ik
ll« UreMy, however, ordered a plate of this fruit li ::M, ..iM, having

am thai qati ' veil enough iImmm mcraingtpgolo t ant

TVpdt returned the third year, bat la v much slighter degree than before, and
lilt [reit botanist was. eventually ewid b) .y.teinalicaliy pursuing this simple
taatnon.

7at«raiil>crri« used by Linnsms were tlie common wood straw-
bary • > widely spread and plentiful in the Scandinavian

TVo cases arc mentioned in the paper from which tin above
ion is taken, showing that, wholesome as strawberries are
w«vo»lly considered, they will, notwithstanding, art as a poison on
woe persons. They occasioned syncope, succeeded by a petechial
(•torescence of the skin; or, in plainer language, the victims felt very
"int. ind afterwards suffered from a skin eruption, similar to that
proijetd by arsenic. 1 iwder. These arc not the slrawbrrry

•wi. by the absent e of which the long-lost brother is discovered on
^c, but arc the result of the chemical action of the fruit on
ladtridtal peculiarities, which have not yet been reduced to law, nor
•uJaUctoril;. '. by I" in;; termed idiosyncrasies. The follow,

ble :o any chemical action of the straw*
bury :—

I a 101011 cathedral city li»ed a nursery-gnrdener, whose main business
•"to- "d strawlicrrics for the lablesof the wealthy,

: lodgtr*, who were glad
u 4*1 to pleasant a retreat within an eavy walk ol the catkfldml, and t" fi-. «- where
Irarijats. flowers couid be enjoyed m abundance. Mr. and Mil Synnge had

wily ; the master hod sold hU last grapes for

•pttfly wmi. thill's HUck Prince were just coming into full bearing.

»gc, bttiib bti annual oliTv-bnu arirJernbly

•abased toward, the income of Ihc establishment by trcuring a most desirable

Mpr u a permanency. Thlf lodger, Mr. Matthews, was tin i the

i|ioi»»ed canon, and he took great interest in botany nnil Mr. Syringe's

-tiag-huasea. Just before Easter an order came for three large dishes ol straw-

Oas for a dinnci-iwrty at tin' house of a real good customer. The fniit wan to

• winy-. s.i Mr. Syringa Mleeccd tbi 'trongwt

l tno*c pain ... r. >.».i to .ii iir-t planting,

' >r.l uiili the choicest manure, an .m to increased heal lo

!.-m tirward by the critical day. On the eve of the Wednesday, Master

KaUfl Matthews came to pay a passing visit to his uncle on his way to school.

Tafa young gentleman, after the manner of his kind, strolled out in the BORttng

'•»••» a Wat mischief lie could ili> Ill-luck directed Ins steps towards the si-aw-

122

The Gentleman s Magazine.

berry-boosc, and, the door being by Mistake smlocked. be entered. What happened
c«n easily be imagined !— oa the ooe band a thought!*** schoolboy of enormous
dsgeanc apacky. and with a tool that bad no aspirations licyond a free run of
Outer's ; on she other a profusion of moat hwckma berries which seemed banting
to be cairn. Jo« at he began to reflect that be bad not yet break I
agonised face of Mr. Syringe appeared in the doorway. Turning deadly pale,
the unfortunate nun uttered a shriek of horror, and Bed to the bonv
strawberries had to be procured by telegraphing to Cottnt Oanim, ami Mr.
Matthew* was feread to pay a bill of £+. 10.-. A tc\ere eraptioo wu the remit
of those strawberries. !

The following anecdote regarding Fontcnclle, which bean on the
medical aspect of strawberries, reminds us of the wish fteqneu
expressed by old people in En t they might tide over the

month of May, in which case they thought themselves safe for
another year :

Fontcnclle ainsail ]« frabes arec passion, et les declarait tressalulaires,
pourvu (ja'cllet totcot ircs-tocrceN. A la deraiere benre de *n tie, ton ami La-
place Itti dit : " Eh blen ! dob cber papa, comment ccla *a-«-il ?" "Cela nc va
pas, ccla s'en va," repood le philosophe, et il ajouta en tooriant l "Si ye pah)
settlement stumper lea /raiia, j'espere virre encore on an " 11 n'atlrapa paa las
fraiacs ; mail Koatenellc axait cent ans, et Ton prut crosre— »i Too rent — epic kt
fnixi n'ont pas «te crnngcrcs a la longe'vtic dc l"auteur de* MtmJii.

In order that the strawberry may be discussed in all its aspects, a
short allusion to the strawberry-leaf as a badge of the higher ranks of
nobility must not be omitted. The only allusion to the strawberry in
the whole series of Notes ami Queries is the following quest i
which remained unanswered by any correspondent, nor was light
thrown on the subject by any editorial suggestion. "St. Swift
inquires : Why were these leaves chosen to decorate ducal and 01
coronets?1 Tlat question cannot be answered iu : because

strawbcrry-lcavcs were not chosen to decorate coro.-.>
number of conventional leaves were used to ornament the crowns of
the nobility as car rdgH of Edward III., and the>

which u» early coronets are very' unlike a strawb-. did not

receive their modem name till a much later epoch, and the reason
of their being so name' DWH to us. It is only ir COM

times that such expression* i to the si .cs,"

&c,* occur in our litera: | may W remarked tlui

Beaconsfield has made frequent employment of the metapht
early novels, two examples of which are quoted in Latham's John
Dictionary The ducal coronet is ornamented with eight of

' tttn aW (iwru, August I J. 1874.

• "The «r>.t*TTy-'.e»»«oi her charWa-paneU are engraved An her ladyship's
hea^--Th»ta«Tay'. /W ,fSm*', chap. ■

Strawberries.

123

conventional leaves, as they arc guardedly called in the new edition

of tli lopxdia Britannia," five of which arc shown in

When the ducal coronet serves as a crest coronet, it

.^rry-leaves. The coronet of a toarqu

heightened by four strawberry-leaves, three being risible in drawing.*,

: of an earl baa eight, with four represented in illoftti
The coronets of viscounts and lawns have no ornamentation of
strawberry ttt xt the reign of <, ■

II. that barons wcr; to * coronet at all. Since 1715 the

base of an archbisru has been a ducal coronet, consequ

the strawberry-leaves arc present. Kleurs-de-lys arc substituted for
strawberry-leave? in the imperial crown of Kngland and in the
coronet* of the Prince of Wales and younger sons of Her Majesty,
but thai of the Duke of Cambridge bears strawberry-leaves.

w. ooixcrr-sAMDAxa

124

Toe Gentleman's Magazine.

TABLE TALK.

THE social essay is often a remarkably faithful index both to
the manners and the spirit of a period. In Addison and
Steele, in the beau-wit of a later generation, Bonnell Thornton —
associate of the elder Colman — in Johnson, with his sententious
formality, much may be found that reflects r.ot only the writtf
their times. Nor is there any reason why oar contemporary
humourists should be less representative of the days in which we
live. The lucubrations, for instance, which Mr. Charles J. Dunphie
has hut given us under the title of " Sweet Sleep," are rema-
inrluenced by current peculiarities of manner and thought A special
feature of this essayist i* his seeming readiness to fall in with that

a! and Mate tone still too prevalent amongst us— a tone M
though often a mere histrionic assumption under which excellent
people disguise their better natures, is not harmless even when
regarded in this light. With that large and languid section of the
public which placidly congratulates itself upon its sujwriority to
emotion, our essayist seems at first sight to concur. " Yes," says he,
in effect, " let authors no longer pretend to uphold the delusions of
enthusiasm, generosity, credulous faith, or to present any difficult
ideals of sacrifice or duty. Let us admit henceforth that self-interest,
decorously veiled perhaps for the sake of convenience, is the great
law of the individual and consequently of society." Accor !
we have in the book referred to discourses on "The deBgl
being rich," on " The absurdity of constancy," " The miser i
development," and " The unimportance of everything," osso-
moreovcr with such views of external things as well accord with the
moral lopscy-turvcydom which the writer affects to del
have dissertations, for example, on " The deli; a English

climate," on "The pleasure* i' . and "The i: .l*an-

lage» It will c nderstooi!

rapport of the imp** i d aspects of i

purely ironical, and that his pretended commend >
a vehicle for keen -.1 spirited millers. In soi

indeed, as also in the glowing lyrics which arc *

Table Talk. 125

took, his generous contempt of a worldly and conventional spirit

ditwtly asserts itself. It is not the less, however, a sign of the times

thatan advocate of those qualities which do our nature most honour

Mould often feel that the best mode of enforcing them is ■ feigned

limitation of their opposite*. Energy of style, fertile and apposite

iOiUtranon, reading and scholarship arc exemplified in the book,

of»hich, however, the most striking feature a the capacity shown to

•'tbukc the cynic by cynicism— to drape hellish indifference with the

*JrwiUgcs of plausibility, and yet all the more to bring out what is

tpeDrnt in its aspect Work of this kind may very possibly be the

fat symptom of a social reaction. In the course of a generation or

t*o it nay no longer be the fashion to sneer at emotion, or to ignore

•dean whether in life or the arts. To be reverent and earnest may

the* be regarded, if only by way of variety, as proof of " good form "

no less than of good feeling.

PHE Queen has presented three trained nurses with the badge
1 of the order ol" St Katharine; which I hope will do tfai n
l«H>J, T • at all events, will be useful in cue of accidents,

^*it» do other bandages handy. Hut I have had a good many nurses
*** «y house from lime to time, and the decorated ones were certainly
the from.

]DO not wish to condemn unheard an active class, but I
feci disposed to ventilate a grievance from which I fancy n good
T»iny residents in suburban London suffer. Wishing to make the
*»X»t of the few feet of garden in the rear of my house, I have from
tine 10 time planted a few such flowers as will thrive so near London
*acfce. These things flourish well enough until I admit a gardener.
**ea they disappear. Tor a iittlc time 1 was embarrassed to reconcile
^■e and effect, until my own observations and those of members of
*J household showed mc that there was nothing mysterious, as I at
«oeucoc fancied, no curious and hitherto unexplained antagonism
Vt»een the two. In his zeal for transplanting, or in the absence of
oad caused by his pursuits, my gardener pulled up my flowers by
k roots and dropped them into his own pocket. 1 have tried a
ped many changes of gardeners, and, though I cannot say I have
««u ill take the plants, I have invariably found the same process of
^appearance follow their visits. Reluctant to encourage energy so
•■arreted, I have ceased to plant flowers, and allowed Nature to
U* her way and cover the whole surface with grass. I wonder if
*owhing.in the nature of a strike among employers of jobbing

126

The Gentlematis Magazine.

gardeners would serve to correct thetn of a custom which, indulg
in over-rnuch, might, by the process De Quincey describes, lead
incivility and positive want of punctuality.

WHEN, as experience proves, it is all but impossible to ma
miners observe the precautions necessary to the preserva-
tion of their own lives, and when, in defiance of warning or punish-
ment, they will persist in tampering with the fastenings of their
safety lamps, it seems difficult to find a means of reaching another
class of workmen whose conduct is equally dangerous and inde-
fensible. Everybody recalls how the carelessness of a workman who
was repairing the roof of Canterbury Cathedral all but lost us one of
the most glorious ecclesiastical piles in Europe. Short as is the
period that has elapsed since that calamity was averted, it has wit-
nessed the destruction, from a similar cause, of lialf a dozen of those
country houses in which some of the choicest art treasures of
kingdom are stored. Now, it is useless to appeal to the sestl
feelings of those who are as insensible to the charms of an old
building as the jackdaws that shelter in its crannies. Could M
however, some application of electricity be brought to bear for
purpose of fusing the lead employed in roof restorations, and cool
not the necessity of carrying fire to the summit of a building be thus
removed ? If such measures are practical, it should be compulsory
upon the guardians of our historical monuments to employ them.

f those
of the

sthetic:
Old

ould
.1...,

I DO not know if the advocates of restrictive legislation with
regard to Sunday arc cognisant of the change that is coining
over the liabits of the British workman, or disposed to accqrt any
share in the responsibility for bringing it about While we are tig!
cning the bonds which surround Sunday enjoyments, and narrowing
the circle within which the labouring classes ran disport themselvc*
on that day, the objects of this paternal legislation arc quietly assign-
ing to Monday the functions they can no longer attach to Sunday,
and arc promoting the second day of the week to the place forme
held by the first. Ixt any man who doubts this statement take
walk on a fine Monday— supposing a fine day again to arrive
those suburban districts which the working classes most affect,
he will come home a convert A very large percentage of
craftsmen and the like now abstain from work frem shortly
noon on Saturday until Tuesday morning. I leave to statist
and political economists to settle what amount of national loss
involved in this forfeiture of productive labour. It is obvic

Table Talk. 127

caorraous, and it exercise* a disastrous influence over us in our
CflBpetition, in certain forms of labour, with other nations. Mcan-
vMe, our legislators will give way at no point. Once more by the
rtujocity of the Bishops the House of Lords has recently decided
that the museum or the picture gallery shall not be placed on the
sunt level as tlic public-house. It is curious to find our ministers
dimading so completely the signs of the times as to sec in the
added holidays of which I speak a reason for maintaining existing
idOiaions, instead v( a retail of cxccs-ivc severity. A stronger
•Mince of :i between cause and effect cannot easily be

wppfcd

T theory that everybody has got something good about them
is, in my opin> it heresy; it is < hjefiy nourished by

concealment, and I notice— whether through the influence of theanti-
capul-punishment-mongcrs or not, I cannot say — that the news-
Wen are apt to burke any case which proves its absurdity. For
tumult, in no daily paper have I Been any mention of Marceline

r6 years of age. having been condemned to death by the Court
cf Auues of Vicnne for the foil rime:—" She forced her step-

4uQkter, a little girl of eight, to take with her soup sixteen pins, two
fctrfks, and some pieces of wood, whereupon the unfortunate cfaiU
etpwed in the most horn I tents," Even « French jury omU

■dao extenuating circumstance in this appalling, 01 but I

l»r no doubt, tliat t people in this country who would

petitioned that Miss Guio: should have been " spared " to U Ii the
duld bad not died, the woman would certainly not have been hanged.

a weakness for children, which must be my excuse for saying
that in case Lynch law seems to me far preferable to the

etttbliibcd article.

ANT sends me the following 1
Bydfl South W In one of Syiranu

•Anabk i the number for kvgm 1S7S) I

«*i»Ctd a remark alwut Australian win. res me he

probably fair
■Sffc; and I wish I had him here for .1 pleasant hour or two, just to
eootii South Wales both can and

don produce. Amongst them is a full ied wine— a "Bur-

gw*k :, coin the term — called < bftiutt, which stands

well, I liear, and is, I believe, to be got in London. I
so in London by this time a shipment of champagne

tin

of red
p*x a sigh of
These m at least ooc
and no
wsdi a; aad I really
■ake aad npraing of it
of ike world Even now,
ot "Carbine*,"
of French "reds."

>f the

Oxhalf of John Keau's only suser, Madame Fanny Keats dc
Uanos, the sole surviving member of the poet'> immediate
inioentially signed memorial was lately wot to the
the view of obtaining a Gvd List pension. This the
l/itd has not seen fit to grant; hot an award of £t 50 has been
from the Queen's Bounty Fond. Having regard to the very
public claims of one whose brother's works arc air
classical, and to the urgency of the case through heavy 1 1

the signatarics of the memorial, including most oi
inent poet* of the day, have treated the grant as the nucleus of an
EC fund, and a subscription has been set 00 foot to obi
he lovers of Keats a proper provision fin
ntcrnurialitw have already subscribed a considerable sum ; and it it
tin tlut the nutter need only be brought before a wide
Ihc speedy collection of the needful fond. 1
great or nm.ill, .»■ cording to the donor's circumstances, arc thcr
ncstly solicited from all who honour the name 01
riptiuns r* ill nd promptly ack:;

it of the Reading Room, British M
Ml Mr. H.

Fornun, of j8 Marlborough Hill, St. John's \VV

THE

GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE.

Ai oust 1879.

LWDER WHICH LORD?

BV fc. LYNX UNION.

ClIAMtU XXII.

nil; MEW DEPARTURE.

TUl. threatened eviction of the nan in the Ron itirred the
wlbfci" greatly. Tlii J) v.h.ii might have been ex*

imii fd Mi lAKelli • 1 ad foreseen and provided
He knew that . ami that to turn

^ their hon ard- working, sober, respectable men

^otc they did not go t.. and believed in science rather

•tanrei a persecution as the times will allow.

•*" he calcubted on the n pei I of humanity for force and

hom ni ! of tyranny liad to be
**»idCTed 0 -ud he thought that he would make the bold

'WeboklK le by the issue.

lOUrl, of course, that it was Rich ird I nllerton's intention to

""M cottages for the dispossessed ; and lie smiled when he heard it

'< «oi 1 ne houses to be built, sure enough ; but who would

■* 'he tenants was another matter. The weather was such, however,

Id be done for the present beyond marking out the

Ctttld jnd digging the foundations ; and meanwhile Mr. Fullcrton

■^Mfed to lodge John Graves and his brother Ben in a house of

hijhli pened to be vacant; while Ringrove, in spite of

•fcu !, would be Hermione's displeasure and

any — Dick Stone and Allen Row among
rest were housed by Mr, Ncsbitt and the local
.is as things turned out the break-up was not so

TOJ.CCXLV. SO. 1 K

IJO

Tki CtMtLmns

Itofei

the

before the

M * «- ka
iaf sQtkmgs;

She

rtbe

were not

B^B^B^B^B^B^HflinarT

Meanwiue, thoqgh much n> said, ncahrag wu done ; and that

efigy. if in ii— ■■< at Tom Monrhaafs, boo came off.

would not hare been sorry to hw*« bad a band in it, and would

given ba bat bat with a free bean rf it would bave nude ihc

ckMcr , but cm the whole the? thought better 01

they said among themselves, woold be main sure tu
and tbe notion died an as some others had done
ge talked over the eviction — which the? fowled in taking :
rather the work of the vicar than of that sorry, young Molyncux—
i men on 'Change talk over the hnpaul war that chances to l
I , and some said one thing and some another; but, save here and
there a half-hearted malcontent 'taking pet' with the Chur<h and
absenting himself for a lew Sundays from the services— so go hock
when his temper had roofed — no action was taken whole —

though everyone said it was a shame and a sin, and Mr. Lascdles
was no better than the Pope of Rome, and they would have to look
sharp if they didn't all want to be made into slaves— yet. in spite of
all that, the Englishman's veneration for strength cum. ind

if the vicar got ill-will from some he go: respect dashed with fear
P more.

At the Abbey that kind of lull which follows on a storm f-
the household after the discussion between rJ and the

rearrangement of their lives between Heimione and her husbu
and for :\ few weeks things were apparently tranquil— as dea
tranquil. No bystander could hare seen that the love which
been so deep and true had received its blow, and

there was as little real peace as happiness in Uus well-
well-mannered family. Hcrmionc, «ei atished m

and, like all women, regretting the love which she ha<:
repulsed, at the fust did not care to aggravate her secession I .
ecv- it, satisfied wit: d gains,

left off for t)i iges. K:. . ak-

ualwaisan uncert. i fearful L ionej

go back on her old self if the i
crafty angling gives lent:
ukri -Mr. Ijstellc* took t

■ic prCJCnl fcltcm WW ihnurlva v.:
00 Dew unci, lie even seemed I i adversary to|

Under which Lord?

'31

advantage by a relaxation of Church observances, which, by the
Nmreii' nmaoded.

lie winter had vet in wit . rms

I icnt occurrence, and the frost did Dot break in
The ibon days vitro sunless and dark, and " martins " ud evensong

erforce given up foi want of attendants. Both 1km.

wd Mrgini bad colds; and die vicar id of

too nrnth austerity in the disi rhich J el ■ for

of his influence. Had the daily been

comk mid not hare allowed either to join in than ; and

il them, if not quite th of Hamlet with the part of

Hanh they would have been Theresa.

Molyneuv, with her increasing thinness, lu-r hollow COUgh and
<0Mmt fever, was out of the bound-, of possibility in u irbich

men and killed oif the weak and aged ; and Mr, 1 at
«ftndidnot think th of tough Aunt Catheria aacfa

lace that he tboold
1 ■■ ii;t- iii 1! ingrcgation wera also 111

ndon
ild change, than to go on in
■ : make lb < 11 ii 1 lud bron< bids,

■d the Grace ci 1 1 pneumonia

All that was for the pn •• m ■ ■ . • in

•olcrdJc health was attendance on tin- Wednesday and Friday
ttion on Sunday, and thai ill-important weekly
wtfcssion which gives the pnest supreme control ol th< bmtly, eo
** he can break up a danger- md an opposing unity if he

upas tree planted in a clay pot would BOOH spill
'••Mo fragments. These duties wire imperative on all who would
***rtd well with their local I lie- sine of theil place in heat

Ii d to no domi
Fer though Richard kept more with bis wife and daughtei than
** W ever done before, yet he could not COnsUtUU himself either
ihtif gaoler or their spy ; and so long at he knew that 1 ert.un 1!
•"tin* done, he had to ith the rest. When

"ked Virginia, as he almost always did at breakfast " II ive yon
Itro oat, my < inswered: "No, papa," he was

•1 tlut, so far, the spoke of • ■ tense bad

reus ecclesiastical wheel, and that the car of Tuggernauth
ssdhsei extent in its dcstnii did

st*ki>. tes which passed in the day between the Abbey

ud the Vicarage , of the exhortations, the confessions, the constant

132

T/ie Gentleman's Magazine.

spiritual presence that wa» never suffered to fade from iheir con
sciousness. He only knew that for about a fortnight those two dear
ones of his, whom he was believing to guard, did not do anything
monstrously unwise, and that neitl.' iscclles nor any other of

the clergy entered the liousc. But tl only the outside of

things ; the core remained the same.

His keeping so much nearer to them, and seeing so much more
of their actions, did not in the end advance Richard's i
csthcr wife or daughter. Kind and gentle as he was to both, he was
all the same a hindrance — an overseer and controller in one, whose
companionship must not be suffered to bring p md which

hindered what it did not give. Had they not been warped and held
as they were, this new frequency of association would have been
infinite joy, but now it had come too Late : — " too late '. " sighed
Hermione, looking back to the old shrine with its withered flowers
and defaced god, while borne away by a stronger will titan her own
to the temple where that god was accursed and his worship the
nlonable sin.

ather was so bad that they were perforce kept so
much indoors, to have Richard coming in and out continual!}
with a scrap of newi from the day's paper, now with a beautiful bit of
fairyland res-elation by the microscope, if sometimes embai! .
when notes had to be written, and the like, yet sometimes was not
wholly unpleasant— at least to Hermione, whose humour varied
the hour. To Virginia, more intense and less personally swayed,
her father's presence was always now a pain. But when the worst
of the winter broke and Ihelr lives were ordered bad. into i he old
groove of religious while Mr. LasceUei resumed his com-

mand, it became an • <1 torture M b

How could Ihey ■ M the Vicarage daily— that ark of

!— as they had been accustom I | >do,«

or asked to be taki

In the carriage? They might My that they had parish
to attend to once or twice in the week, perhaps;— but every day
Impossible I LTnlen they wished to bring things to a premature
crisis, the;. ■ Klians of tl

legends; and how devoted soever tl) yet,

they • director

w unhap. U were! Mr. I.a>cellc» and Sister A

-, ami their bitterness reacted ii

bitterly

IsshHH

Under which Lord?

>33

who :. The Sister's cold iriy broke Virginia's

.md sent her to her km <■■• bl agonies of grief ; whereby she was

nude colder and yet coldeT to her father as sonic sort of expiation ;

■hile licrmionc — now chafed by the vicar's s.nirii a] • onglltnlatiOM

on the evident peace established between licr and her husband — now

uodic self-assertion by his allusions to ho light! of

property, and sighing regrets that she could not take Iia< k In r gift of

control—" not being strong against the man whom she hnd loved

•o fervently "—roused to feverish unrest of vanity by ise, to

oawholcaon: hi* half-cheeked words, ha suddenly

.•autious self-control discontented; with herself

»nd her life, her past and licr present alike — soon slipped into the

Hate and place from whii h that fortnight's Test had apparently

retcucd hcT. Her heart mm between those two opposing influences —

w longing to throw herself into her husband's arms, beseeching him

to forgive her sin against his love, and to take her to himself as of

oW— now kneeling to Mr. LueeUflB, confessing her most intimate

feeing*, her most secret thoughts, and giving herself to his guidance;

QtdUating between wifely love and ecclesiastical fanaticism — old

affections and new excitement* — it was scarcely to In wondered at

if ho humour became varied and uncertain beyond what it had ever

ten before. Neither was it to be wondered at, seeing how things

'tally wete with her too, if Virginia had an anxious kind of look,

ftsttett and searching, like a caged creature looking for means <>f

rvapc.

ETrti* closeness of companionship which nu to guard, mute,
fclaim, was daily becoming insupportable to both HermiOM and
•1 ; and consequently daily more to Ki> hard's own

Wctol It threw the charm of difficulty and the fascination of the
faWtl- -nr scale with er attractions found at the

Hermione's interviews with Mr. Lascelles — Virginia's
and Fathei Truscott riefei and seldomer

Ala before, but they were more fervid and intense in consequence.
**awch had to he packed into a small compass ; and certain feelings,
^nain resolves and wishes, like gun-cotton, gain force by compression.
"0 «hat he would Richard felt the ground giving way under bit 1
**l the hands which he strove so hard to retain, slipping cold and
m his. An evil fortune seemed to pursue him which made all
to efforts us. worse than useless. The force that opposed him

■M at irresistible as electricity, as overpowering as gravitation ; and
he m ■« relatively weak as Thor when he stirred the foundations of
iht tanh and wrestled with that feeble-looking erone whose name was

'34

The GetUletnaris Magazine.

OM Age. And what wast mi- on i is own side with Hcnnionewasastm
with Virginia, if the threads here were of a slightly dinere"'
pforion ;' wfa i h wove the tangled web there.

When convinced th.it no goo bin or to ttVm by

the present method, Richard om morning broached the subject of
foreign travel, saying with it I \t :

"Would you not like to rd winter, Rcrmione? The

weather is really terribly trying ! I long for the sunshine a
skies, say of Italy. What do you '?>?"

This was much for him to propose, pretext as it was. H«
no travelling blood in him, and he loved both his home and I
work, lii» bodily quiet and mental activity, too well to like t

of knocking about fordi where was a-.

v.l? no indeed:" said Hermione with .1
it tinned in 1 bead to the window and the dreary pn
U'lii: ked at her husband in these

never > could avoid it, met his eyes.

looked at her mother wit iinllv.
" Would von not like to go to Italy, mamma?" she asked—" not

gO to

"No, not even to Rome," ansa mother with a forced

1. " NY 1

anil the child like it I am ready, and shotll

! Richai I Wmui u in advocate unexpectedly

ied.
"Ccrtabrj 1 d rternu'one with a nervous rough.

mal: 1 think of :•

Mr had prepared her for the chance of -osal.

id had warnei - be

taken

would take uc out 0 wand frost andbrii

met

illy.

lovely at
Ronu DOM

oriR look.
" II rnu 1 '•>
will not hindi 1
hot' 1

ita would he a vet

ml
not be

striae,

:it»

Under which Lord?

•35

RidnH fondly ; B but without her mother, I doubt if either she or I
*NH

H:rmione blushed and looked embarrassed.

ire very good," she said shyly, like a great girl receiving a
compliment from her lover. " I dare say Italy would be very | ;
^nijuitDow — I am sure indeed that it would— but for many rea-
sons I am best at home, and it is only waste of time to talk about

■m ■bich she got up and left the room, on pretence of attending
*o»mc domestic duty which did not exist and which she would not
***t attended to if it had existed.

Fix her reward, Mr. Lascelles assured her that all the heavenly

k'tfudiy were well pleased at htf constancy, and, what was more to the

P*»B«e perhaps:, that he hi • entirely content. Cut he warned

n*Jliutth*: infidel against (Those wickedness they wen: both arrayed

^tnU spread his snare again; and he prepared her with her weapons of

■feface against those " innumerable devices of Satan " of which this

°fyxtionablc agnostic was supposed to be the chosen executant.

"fterdbre it came about that, when Richard went back on the same

*tyeet— this time emphasizing his own wish by complaining of not

Wiag well;— and indeed he wis looking miserably ill ; — of suffering

** the weather, craving for sunshine, wanting change, excitement,

"ovtraent — Hcrmione took up an argumentative tone, saying with a

"Kl cf unnatural firmness ami indifference which showed clearly

•<*|fc what was the uncon strength of will behind her :

*lf yoo really requite change, Richard, go abroad by all means.
*e shaO take no harm and you will get good."
- But will you not come with mc ? " he asked.
She shook her bead.
• Impossible," was her only answer.

■aid not care to go without you," he said with grave

"Oh, that is childiih." she answered with mock primness. "Old
**n>d people as we are, we can afford to be separated for a few
***s without breaking our hearts."

A» die said this she suddenly crimsoned, then turned aside with
''Sfebogh as affected as the rest.

mAnd if I laid it on your duty a ? " asked Richard with a

*fc.but conscious that he was trying a dangerous experiment.

"I should then oppose you with my duties as a proprietor," said
**»•«, repeating her lesson. " If you left, I should stay behind
*h* after my affairs."

'36

The Gentleman's Magazine.

r. vinr h*r

She spoke in a level, artificial voice, her heart misgiving her.
But Superior had told her what to say, and she was bound to obey
him.

Reading between the lines Richard understood so far.

" Morse "—the bailiff—" would attend to all the bu
b< --ml (juietly.

" 1 .should not choose to give everything up to Morse. I woul
prefer to superintend them myself," she answered.

He smiled. Her words called up one of the sweet images of I
past

" It would be pretty to sec you over the books," he said, remem-
bering her old-time inability to add up a page in a day ledgci »i:'
tolerable exactness, and her general confusion between pence an
shillings which made the total not a little misleading.

Hcrmione flushed.

" It is your fault that I can do so little," she said with petulanc
" I think it is very hard that I know so little of my own affairs ;
I must say I do not like to be so entirely in the dark ax I have
kept all my life."

This was the first card of the new lead, the first indication of
new departure.

Richard looked at her full and straight in the face — his own
grave rather than stern.

" You shall be enlightened on all that concerns us at any moment
when you will give me your attention," he said. " I have no wish i
keep you in the dark."

"It is very odd then that you have done so," .iaid Hcrmio
Then repenting of her injustice, she added impulsively: " No, 1 1
not say that after all ! It has been the fault of my own wTctche
indolence.''

" Less that than the result of your loving trust," said Rv
"Where one can do all single-handed, is it not a waste of force
employ two? But for my own part I shall be delighted to show ;
all the mysteries of book-keeping and lease-letting. When will
come for your lesson ? "

He smiled again as he spoke. The vision of her pretty golde
head bending over the accounts in his study, as she used in the
days of their marriage, when she thought that somehow her i
had grown in the night because she put down an account of
pounds in the shilling column and was the triumphant possessor <
so much more than she had a right to expect — the vision of her ce
miiukes and their pleasant correction came before him as perhap

Under which Lord?

'37

Ac beginning of a new lif i them and the sweeping away of

Aac "retched misunderstandings by which they were kept asunder.

"When will you come, wife?" he asked again, forgetting the
terra* on which they were living, and leaning forward with sudden
ttJBMfc

felt the false move that she had made. What would Superior
Hyif he heart! of this monstrous proposition of imixllv intercourse
■rthhcrcxcommunicitt l hatband? and what would he do were she
toascnl to it ? T! bl made her shiver.

i go from home 1 will find it all out by myself,'' she aaid
■vnedry, in the tone of one half-frightened. " And, as you say,
■kBejrou bare) the rnuagamenl of things, I am not wutteej."

And then the conversation droppc<l. Richard went wearily into
ai» «udy while she, Stirling her heartache by first reading a page or
t»o of De It'iiUttione, turned to an illumination which the vicar
!*d begged her to do for his own private room. It was to DC
•etret between them ; and secresy gave it a greater charm and
caned miilt it a deeper danger. But even though the work pleased
her, ari' r was the centre of her holiest feelings and highest

We~K> the was for ever repeating to herself— a tear dropped on
•Wtdlum, which gave her infinite trouble to work over.

- this nothing more was said about leaving Crossholmc.
too Richard's aim had been taken— and had failed.

Things went on in intertable way, the gulf between this

">Md father and husband and his converted beloved growing
deeper and wider day by day, till suddenly on a certain Wednesday
"Xniag Hermionc ami Virginia appeared at the breakfast-table,
fasted in black, and with a generally austere air that Richard must
•»♦« been Wind not to hav. They had been down to

"uttins," and Hermionc had evidently been weeping; while
«|iau was even more serious than usual, and with more of that
and feverish expression which had lately taken the place of
hfr former calm intensity. Religion with her had been neither fear
■* doubt nor yet division of feeling. It had been one straight
PHh lrhkh she was called on to follow, and which she would have
'lied other than forsake. Now something had sprung up within her
•fcf of which even her mother, even Superior was ignorant — and
■"ut remain so until she had seen her way once more clearly. But
dorinj; of fighting through her difficulties, she was almost

*» Unhappy as her father, almost as torn and tossed and hesitating
*» her mother. And her face on this Wednesday morning was the
winw e-f her mind.

Oe»i

«38

tlcmaris ft!

Richard looking .mho | he first under-

standing how the change in their ge ide—
noticed thai nekhei took mo

coffee without milk, and :i small square of toast without butter. I If

let the ei < rtiiin iiy pots with mil. Truth to suy he «u

growing afraid oftroubl <mtrol

when he had stirred, and whidi healed no <>m .vn

them. Luncheon hi bad by himself; tod when he asked where
told they were at church. The rusty littli

ill the morning— it
soft, mild Februafy morning, incaih of the

spring iteaJra m ibe banks and bi hi Bui Ri hard

not knowwhal 1 He only saw th; ■ than

ordinary was on hand in the ecclesiastical world, and won
superstitious vagary it Bright be.

At dinner, things were as odd as they lud been at breakfast,
and as dreary u at bk solitary loncheoa 'l*he flowers and ulilc
Omamenta had ill been removed; and the soup which woul<!
been familiar enough to a Frenchman in his maigre days, WI
familiar to Richard Fullerton. The salt fish too was not a fn
dish at hi ud( disliked it So did Mcrmione

Virginia; but they took nothing else, and of mgly:

the meats which followed were manifestly prepared for one
only, and placed before bun alone.

It was a tnd essent nd, though of

IBM their meals had been silent and dull to xaenc,'

to-day things surpassed them:.. I the self .

He flesh of the believer the personal indulgence of

heretic seem gross ■ lend,

" W ! Virginia eat? " asked Richard < i

Love names and tender epithets had dropped between ill
Hcnnionc had repulsed them too ol it possible

nun with silt M dignity to continue what was so e» ide

unwi-l' >in herf.r

to her tenderly wai used t" be her fon

I'm Alness.

•' 1 1 i\ .Ash Wed -tid Hcrmionc with «

•in.

" liui i' , why sti ■ cat

dim i
win.

•• li

e and
aenea

Under which Lord?

139

rd looked up with a sudden H ish of scorn.

he Great] by eating sparingly

1 very disagreeable kind o; gastric juice

1 the mischief with your mtn ned.

id Hem
1...1 n lation en
make between sail r lilt-, jursnips and the

ble?"

thing? arc nothing in thcmscl Hcrmione. "The

nk* is in '

" It is a comfortless kind of thing," returned hd graceless hus
■ >r my own pari I cannot see tin- ethical value of ii
I of hunger. '
"1 1 . not the "Jy of pleature, and We were not sent

world to seek heaven by our sen
Hen id this with the oddest kind of demtrreDess possible —

, because so evidently thi lesson learnt and a doctriae

sed on the original material, and was in no wise spontaneous
wte»L

" I don't know about thru." said Richard. " Good digestion and

tyipineo, prosperity and virtue, arc often interchangeable terms in

oea known to humanity hare 1 1 >nv • most

and insm .ts i npropei food disorders

n quite .is much as o« 1 Indul

hi and the needle'-, eye?" the asked with weak

1 all humbug," he answered hastilj •• 1 be Kingdom of
en of there meant simplycommuni in Rnd self nnpoTerish-
rkiil h 11 the rii h young n u

nsgiving d< 1 more than it

Upifiml ih •', using his wealth for wages;

»*el iking man can have. Rich 1

in the poor, i iccaase they are

brtter - temptations. We do not rind the

dwjjerous classes among tl my more than we find the diseases

'"faced by want and misery among the well ■housed and well fed.

ndittons from which it is the end of civilixati in

Her*

• will drop the- conver

iron can <:all the Bible humhi

140 The Gentleman s Magazine.

"I did not mean to offend yon, said Richard. " But I confess
with shame that I lose patience at times when I sec a book
dealt with quite B different condition of civilization and
thought from our own, used as the eternal obstacle to progre*
reason ; and in my own life made the destroying agent of I
ness. The idolatry which you deprecate when applied to A
and Siva is nowhere so absolute as in this blind w> myth*

and axioms which might suit the childhood of society, l>ut whii
science of a maturer age checks and refutes a! all points."

" If you say another word in the HUSe Strain I I
table," said Hermione severely; while Virginia, her pale fan- lull of
colour, rate abruptly nd left the room without speaking. " It i%
useless to talk to yon," she continued with temper. peak

of somctl' BOt it all whit li, perhaps, would be best."

" No; let us speak of something else of your new dr»
Richard, feeling that he would rather have it all out now at
thinking that perhaps a little personality of application might shame
his poor wife into some return to common sense. "Wtutf
and Virginia wearing to-day? You look as if you I i to I

funeral."

•' We arc in Lent," said Hermione, blushing.
Mining?"

" Yes ; the Church, our me in mourning, and we arc her

children. "

"The modem milliner's version of the Eastern filthy duvt and
ashes? Forty days of sombre ugliness' Hard on unrcgroerate
men like myself, who low olours and who take pride in the

wife's beauty, the daughter's grace I"

He spoke with sadness, dashed with mockery dt which

lifted it up from the de;i row.

"If you want bright colours look at the new ■ id."" said

Hermione with a scornful act

"Yes? I have never taken much notice n( the I
their dresses," he returned quietly. " Bui l fetrently hop
all my household i3 not going into black because of Lent.
the fables of Creek an thology a incor-

porated?"

" If they wish to remain in my service they will," replied l
mione with strange i [ will

go to > il to you night

Do not disturb yourself for us again."*

"An> I not to see you or tba child again

Under which Lord? 141

Richard, not raising ti He could not accustom himself to

this painful estrangement ; and every frail proof, every new phase.
increased the bitterness of his sorrow, till he sometimes wondered
how he lived through the agony of his d

•' No," said Hermione, she too not looking up, hut trying to
remember all that Mr. LimcIU-; had Mid 10 her tlii* morning —

;.c Richard's iniquity so that her heart might bud
ajp > rginia and I wish to end this solemn da) in peace

arm We do not wish all our sacred dis>

turl v. hii-h you lit SO lil>eral."

ird " It is but one more sacrifice ta
He sighed heavily. 'When and where will [| .ill
end ?' be ■ ltd fa Bit

"Thai lies with you alone," replied Hcimionc. "Truth is un-
changeable, and we are in the way of troth. Good night- I will
wi»l. j?»d night from you "

I ood night," was his reply made with a faltering voice,
l^nt — this time of mourning — at which you are playing is too sor-
ful a reality for me

W li.it could She knew it all

v too well ; but he was an atheist, and it was his own fault if he

suffered He had cut himself off from peace as from light, as

1. truth ; and the hideous master whom he was serving was hut

dealing with him according to the law of his being.

With a sigh as sad as his own she turned from him silently. A9

closed the door, I ed his arms on the table, and laid oil

If only he could see the end of it all ! He

would wait in patience and in love, he would he forbearing, and he

e his rights if onl) he night hope that one day he should

recover what now he had so strangely lost. But things were

gri- not better; and his hopes were dimmer and his

hen as the day* passed one after the other, each I ringing

some new triumph to his enemy, some new discomfiture to himself.

And he— he i i more arrest nor improve than if his beloved

were at the |toint of death, and he tailed on the Primal Force to

bring them back 10 life I

dden gasp. 1 sudden spasm at his heart,
brought him back from regrets to consciousness. He had had much 1

. heart (A I tort than oner- these sharp p.iur.

Startled him as now. Hut the faiulness which followed soon

pawed ; m tones brought ifleehtsaa . save

y pale, and with a look of join on his mild

14 =

The Gentleman's Magazine.

no t
nucii

fine face that made the man's best ache far syarpftth;
node him, too — being by no means really ••converted," though he
seemed to be so to please his misii u silent -aths against 'that

black rascal," as he called the vicar, which would have got him *
decent penance- had they been D | .n I .nfession.

The severities whit l> begat) On Ash Wednesday were continu
through i I the slight relaxing of discipline thai had beta

[ ■ < . r 1 1 1 1 1 1 l • 1 during Advent was now exchanged foi the strictest j
ties that have been as yet formulated b) the ritualist parly. During
this time of sacred mourning and holy mortification, the Strain OH the
relations between Richard and his wife and danghr 'CUed

almost beyond bearing. Never had the Church been made soprotai-
neut in his household ; never had the defiance which it inculcated
been so openly flung in the bee of his authority, so passionately \"<>-
claimed Every ecclesiastical observance that had been given up

for the time was resumed, and more were superadded. Wednesday

and Friday fastings with abstinence-days to boot ; "mattins"andeie»"

SOIlg, and full sets iter, on every possible ncci-inn . confession, Will
more severe Consequences of penance and forced abstention fcon
innocent enjoyments not connected with the Church than had crtfl
hitherto been the role ; Sunday spent wholly in the sthoolroom tad
the Vicarage ; an ostentatious display of piety ami devotion all round,
coupled with a coldness like death to Richard the agnostic, eacoub
mnnicated and infidel— these wen- the commands of Mr. Lascelles—
these Father ftuKOtt's directions ; and the two women under their
i ■ ■ 1 1 1 r • , I fulfilled them to the letter.

It was in vain that Richard remonstrated, in vain that he reasoned,
that he ridiculed, that he forbade. Mis wife and daughter opposed
that silent stubbornness oi women who cannot be coerced and *R
influent etl, and went their own way, no matter how much be
opposed. And as HermiODC -aid when he was more urgent l**"
usual because Of Virginia's increased pallor, and hei own I
unrest, unless he absolutely locked them up, and they were unable to
get out, they would go on disobeying him, bound by a higher *d*
than any that he knew or could impose.

What could be do? Nothing. Mr. Lascelleshad spoken
truth — the law had tied bis hand-,. Because of his spceulS
opinions, the rights which Nature herself h
by men's convention ; and one day his wife, at the instance of hC
confessor, told bun that if he persisted in interfering with cithtf
herself or Vir, would apply to the Court .ryto"

protection, and make her daughter a ward whose religious life

Under -which Lordt 143

law would raped, 01 ie unfettered exercise of whose du.

•ould pro\ Mr. I.usceli ne. --he offered QMS

tivc of submission to the new order of thing*, when he
would be let alone and his abominable infidelity so far lofa i

kji tins, and lie chose to fight them— well I she would ma 1 bin
. nd let the Master of the Rolls judgB between lli<
So ; thing stood, and Richard could not change 11

as could K tried his b twitb

llermioncm ia lived their lives* and the repro

late husband and father lived bis. They met :it meal nm.-. Slid Bl BO
other; and those meals were the least painful when there ma ICMt Hid.

■.I increase of bitterness, and to bring
additional sorrow on all concerned. Silence was safe, just as dead
irikeno blow.-. fore MU the order of the day

at the Abbey.

ugh the clerical j - . ■ -.-. ■ r luv I the day, the two Abbey

•rage, and by the Giurch

lor the truth— domestic

1: for whotc sufferings the faithful • •< re called on i" in*

fervently and frequently, and who I mcy they were bidden to

admii- d be imitate, It was a proud position into which

ifc who had forsaken her vows, the daughter who had abjured

her ol . were exalted; and with the self-deception of th.ir

kind they accepted the martyr's palm as if it honestly belonged to

Richard Fullertmi ly breaking hi

under the blight that had Gall ... the hk.h who had conquered

•nd the women who had deserted him, asked a blessing on their
•Isofde-: med then or their own ns

merited ics.

Chapter XXIII,

1111. BURMIMG RUX

lr Mrrmione and Virginia were the more interesting converts,

I to be overcome and substantia]
to tli' I to be secured for the futu amily

11 in the present Over them
without d Ecrcising tact or

e over
He di . their time, their property, their |«rsons, their

144 The Gentleman' s Magazine.

actions, as if independence and self-respect were won:
meaning in English life ; and they obeyed him as if they had been
born into slavery and knew nothing higher than the docility of dogs
following at the heel of the master.

If he wanted more money than he thought well to ask from
Hermione — whom however he was leading deliberately into debt,
to have a still better purchase over her— he applied to Cuthbert. If
Cuthben had run dry — as often happened now— he came on Aunt
Catherine who liad private funds beyond those which were tl
into the common stock ; and if these funds were exhausted, then lie
drew on Thereat personal allowance out of her share of the esc
also thrown into the common stock— limiting her own expend
to tire poundl ■ quarter and taking the rest as a loan to the Lord.
From one or the other of these haman sheep he managed to
sufficient wool for the parish ; and the vestryn Knew to a

fraction what the vicarage yielded, marvelled at the ! '.oings

which were like the cruse of oil and measure of meal that increased
with the using.

When priests and brother* came down in such numbers as he
himself con 1. 1 not BOOK a| the Vict told Aunt Catherine how

many beds he wanted, and gave her the names of his guests as coolly
as if she h. tlie hotel porter hired to register arrivals. He

did not ask, be it understood, for this hospitality to his friends,

to the |M>or, He ordered what he wanted with*"
beforehand or thanks to follow. When he wished this si
have so many pounds of beef, he wrote the order on Churchlands, as
if making use of a banking account which he did not trouble himself
about overdrawing. It he wanted the carriage, he sent dov
man with a message giving the hour ; if he had not enough forks or
spoons, glasses or crockery, for the occasion, his housemaid wt i
Churchlands with a basket, commissioned to bring back so I
He disposed of his three proselytes body and soul ; and they
at his feet and found their pride in the extremes to which they
carried their submission.

Aunt Catherine, besides her personal respect, ..« of the

most slavish kind, had an abject fear of this handsome Meirs,

a* the arbitary dispenser of spiritual pai ;cn»al

penal 1 1 . ami dreaded nothing so

pleasure. The sacred powers ot

claimed as Priest, her more

liberally llian In ad she oft

■ , kind of haze whei t nouraWi

UtuUr which Lord?

145

Usollcs was identical with St. Peter, with qualities and attributes
intermixed. More than once she whispered to her
her own conviction that the vicar of Crossholmc was an
' of the Apostle ; and she added her advice to pay the price
of humility and submission now for the sake of getting good
(fans hereafter. Like all unreasoning people, she enlarged the
jonhtcd borders by exaggeration ; and like all weak ones she was
> fttoh-worshippcr under the name of a Christian. " Superior " was
iJiculisman by which she was ruled, and her credulity that by which
be conjured; and the result of all was that her weak brain was
i!'; daily weaker, until it wax only tOO evident that ifae would
*xn degenerate into confessed imbecility, and dribble out the re-
lief of her life M ■ harmlcNs lunatic, passing her days in close
ampinionship with the demigods of the Christum I HvmpoS,

if Aunt Catherine was still his creature, through all the
lion enforced and submission rendered, something of a dis.
•ring kind had of late traversed Cuthbert's mind, which Mr.
LuceBes. proud and confident as he was, scarcely noted, still less
«himsclf to analyze. But there it was; and the question was, what
1 Was it love for Virginia? and by that love the faintest
pwtte wearing away from hi* former holy zeal? — looking back
Arks hand had been put to the plough ?

tttin in feature, weedy in frame, awkward in gesture, poor

Caibert was little likely to please a fastidious taste. He was of the

W, »hen extraordinarily animated, to make short butts and dashes

8 4e object of his affections ; to take her hand somewhere about

*t «ist, then drop it afteT a moment's limp holding as if he

d burned his fingers ; to laugh insanely at small jokes whereof no

*tha himself could sec the fun ; and to ask her advice as to the

&obess of his coat according to the clay, and whether he should

r* so his woollen scarf or no. If "high" he would present her

«t> copies of Fra Angclico and Botticelli; if "low" he would

rthe Bible do service for his Ovid, and quote texts that should

tiit earthly passion a voice but keep his soul in the right waj .

ttfoeticaliy mediaeval he would follow his beloved at a respectful

4ooce as her servitor, devoted to the joyful task of submission to

e »ij and the glorification of her graces ; he would stand in

Aping lines like the pictures of pages and squire; in >km due

•d plumed hats, and when ihe spoke he would reply to her with

Ojgerated courtesy and respect ; he would make weak verses,

his lute and my lady's garden would often occur ; and he

I think that be had copied to the life the early Italian poets

»w. ceaar. ho. 1784. l

146 The Gentleman s Magazine.

whose stately methods of courtship had touched his fancy. This he
would do when of the kind which aims to live U]
and parodies the noble school with whom passion is not sense so
much as thought.

But be had not got to the length yet of any of these self-commit-
ting expressions. He contented himself with nourishing for Vii
a washy, feeble sort of sentimental admiration which was his version
of the magnificent insanity of which Romeo died — of the passionate
religion for which Tasso suffered. He made love— if he n
all— by looks only. He wanted nothing more than he had— 1
was to sec Virginia every day, and often more than OOCe in th.
■ben be would plant himself where he could watch her pore
passionless outline ; Ins light grey eyei fixed on lier e was

nothing else to took ab Rims like an ng at her— the lips

wide apart, and the p rid there with unbi

S of solemn feebleness. Hut he
liing to her. It was all dumb watch
approval, and no attempt at anything more anient And yet then
was a certain mute understanding between them which might
mean— anything.

Though he gave the idea his sanction, an red it infinitely

to any chances with Ringrove, the vicar was not much inti

wooing of acolyte, lie fctt as sure of him

as of Virginia, and counted on both as his own devoted personal

1 at the loyal children of the Anglican Church, who

would never dfl strict line of his guidance and his

teaching. If they v. ic would then have to con-

1I.1 the chances Dt uch changes as might result from
relations \ bold demand fur the recovery of some of that pt<
of which the hypothetic Inly Mot I

might be necdfni | earthly love docs son

ecclesiastical devotm family have the ti

Mil I ib'i

inaki aged

In ; xeal for

rod to thi

calth.
even gon<
Theresa'*

te howevn

Under which Lord? 147

4e subject when cither Superior or Theresa spoke of it. Nothing
definite was done anyhow ; and he laid the blame of the delay on the
beotd shoulders of those mysterious sinners, the lawyers. He pro-
felted himself disgusted, and even went to the length of a feeble lie
sag that he had written letters of inquiry; which he had not
done; but the act of restitution was none the nearer completion,
and the rent skirt of the mother was still wanting that godly patching.

Ah©, the young man had a little wavered about going up be
onfioMion ax Easter ; sometimes saying that he was not prepared
ataDy, and the exan bung chaplain would never pass him ;
wractinie* pleading moral humility, and that he was not worthy to
urienkc the sa< red office, which only holy men should fill. But
•taunts ended by saying that he would probably go up at Easter
B cuipaally proposed, and if not then, yet certainly he would even-
tually. All the same he fenced with the one question and drew
bad tin the othrr. But (hough Mr. LatCeUes was often irritated,
be «« never afraid. He smiled as he thought how firmly he held
ibh weak brother in the grip of his strong hand, and how entirely he
i*d dominated his feeble nature ; and he believed that this hesitation
•as really due to whatCuthbert himself said — the scruples of a supcr-
■We conscience, which mad< him feel unworthy.

In this state of things Lent passed into its middle term — the mi-

rof Romanism. It was settled that Virginia was to be confirmed

: Enter. Father Trascott was preparing her, and Richard's oppo-

dsd not count Continual ton comes into the ordinary life of

respectable Protestants, and the objei tiona of SB infidel father would

gomvay in law. This matter was safe enough ; that in doubt was

tatprfs visit to C for her " retreat ' prior to confirmation, To

das Richard would certainly Dew consent ; and as tins is no part of
ordinary respectable Protestantism, the infidel here would prove the
socager should it come to * collision between father and daughter —
spwstic and Christian.

All the tame that rctrc ! be arranged and accomplished,

let « cost what it would in the way of dorni stu peace and filial duty
Iher Truscott and Sister Agnes decided . and Mr. Lasccllcs
*ni Hrrrmune approved.

Father Truscott had almost taken up his abode now at Crossholmc,
•here he made himself useful and did more work than anyone
the. He helped the vicar manfully in the parish and with the

vices, and took many of his penitents off his hands. Of these,
, Fullerton was of course the most important He was carry-
1 secret spiritual tillage with her tliat so far had borne no

148 The Gentleman's Magazine.

DOtward fruit, but of which the harvest was none the less growing—
if silently and secretly, yet always growing. He brought her books
and beads and odds and ends of queer things which he <

in. I which he gave to her alone, with much pomp of rev-
keep 1 hem hidden. She was not to show
them even to be* mother. Steer Agnes was the only person who
might handle them, making the sign of the cross as she did so —
press them to her forehead, her lips— kneel before them with out-
stretched arms invoking the protection of the saints whereof these
curious bits of dusty decay were said to be the sacred remains. She
was the only one who knew all that was going on behind the scenes,
and what ir meant and was to end in. And her countenance
strengthened Virginia that once pure and transparent soul — HI

was substantially 1 living lie. But for this 00*1
have found her position unendurable; with it, double dealing and
falsehood n religion became only too fatally easy. The

had taken over her the same kind of control as that which the
vicar bad taken over Hermione, and had so completely usurped the
place of mother that the actual mother and daughter were simply
friends, not i oninl.intes. Sister Agnes was Virginia's real mother, as
Father Truscott was her real fathcT ; and her conscience was at rest
when these two approved what mamma and the vicar would have
disallowed, and that poor lost servant of Satan at home would have for-
bidden. Whither this little quartet of secret illuminati were tending,
and what was being hidden from the face of day among them alt,
time alone would reveal.

If Aunt Catherine feared Superior as a vicegerent who could
1. Theresa adored him as a god who could bless, whose wo

f ecstasy, nnd whose service was its own reward. She was
never so happy as when she was being used for the glory-
Church and the conversion of the parish. But it must be undi
direction, else would the salt have lost its savour an
new. Wihout his words of encouragement, his smile of aj>i

very remonstrance ow well she la.' •-nder

10 kiss the rod by which they are chastised I—
found re'. tame affair ; and her soul \

ied those 1 had cai

giddy heights of enthusiasm, and would have fallen dow
of " rca.'.

iling personal influence is withdrawn,
continued as they were, Theresa touched the cod
her now ecstasy, no* despair ; and her very life was consumed by

Under which Lord?

»49

tbe fervid passion with which she made love to a man under the form
of serving the Church and worshipping God.

la one thing only was she disobedient to her hicrophant : she
*oold not refrain from the devout imprudences which made her
bppbess and destroyed her health. Now that Lent had come in
*e fisted and abstained with a very fierceness of self-abnegation,
though she was in the state which required generous living and
frequent nourishment Whatever the day might be, she was to be
fomd punctually in her place at " mattins " and " evensong," and she
told have felt herself as reprobate as unhappy had she missed early
tdetration— of course fasting She was forced to give up her pleasant
fet about the temporary altar in the schoolroom, as she was forced to
PC up all of personal activity of serving. Her failing strength
ctoifelled even her ardent mind ; and when she had fainted two or
foretimes over her task, she had nothing for it but submission to her
•niness.

Mia Pryor, the schoolmistress, who cherished for the handsome
**»» one of those hopeless passions from a distance which make the
•"fctece of some humble women's lives — whereof the reality is to
^ty the draper — took the girl's work on herself, and did it better.
"k enforced renunciation was u much as Theresa could bear.
*Wc»Ould have broken her down, even though Superior himself
•wJd have approved She could not bring herself to renounce her
fcfy imprudences, more especially that of attendance at the office*.
Her highest moment of happiness was when she could see that
'•doted priest standing between her and the Divine — himself to her
fte Divine ; when she could hear his voice ; let her soul be carried
*s h were in the arms of his spirit up to the gates of heaven by his
f**J«n; and take her especial share of the benediction which had
*> nmch more significance when given by him than by any other ;
|Vn she 'could pour out her love and call it now a hymn and now
*p*

She could not give it all up. Her temperament was of that imperious
■isd which is "founded on absolutes," in matters of love demanding
swal communion for happiness. She was no female Rousseau to
^*t her lover for the pleasure of writing to him and receiving his
feOenia return. She could not make herself content with memory or
fcsjxuioJL Anticipation to be sure did something for her, but
■utipuion without fulfilment was only so much additional pain. If
•ebd expected to see Superior and been disappointed, her anguish

Lknae intolerable ; and a sleepless night spent in passionate weeping,
B feverish despair, was by no means the best kind of thing for a girl

i5o

The Gentleman's Magazine.

whose life was lunging by a thread so frai! >ight snap

one week to another.

Unlets one of two miracles should be wrought in her behalf, things
would evidently go ill with poor Theresa. If she could not force
herself back to common sense and self-control or if a ritualist
clergyman, who found his advantage in cchku y, would not break
throng) igamous vows and marry one who was of some slight

advantage to him as a penitent and would l>c none as a wife-
would be one grave the more in die old churchyard before the year
was out Failing either alternative, the only chance for her safety-
lay in her immediate removal; when perhaps a change of scene
might induce a change of interest, and bar health might be restored
because her heart would be healed.

I in vicar saw all this dearly enough and aed to act on

ii. Her. hysti :i> iii emotion troubled him by o*>ty, and very

little more wa<. wanted R scandal to the Church by some

public display which should reveal to the world all that it wax
important to conceal, and tell even more than the UutlL

presence at the services embarrassed him in more ways tha-i

dangerously bright i 'nsity

■ rforming the most otnee

rbed us thought
dread of what might come, Hi r tempestuous tears wed,

now irritated him ; her self-accusations of imaginary sins, to excuse
the hysterical passion which she i ould nol inge-

nuity to soothe with becoming gravity and tendem
despair when he Iter peril when

he encouraged, perplexed his powers of managemerr
anxious to remove from the place one whose religious aril
evidently the mere cloak foi the disorders of human passion.

More than on re in his career 1 ade

daughters of the Church by first making devoted adoi
A dangerous game at the best, il
now ; and though .•■■■ y I
poor victims and h i
scot-free— he could not !
nature was mo

Englishwomen's — more easy to i< mi -
and of an intenser
after stimulation had li . an*_

That dreaded i

on removing this inconv

Under which Lord? 151

hr insidious, illness— her ardent imagination still more excited by
the superfluous fastings, the frequent acts of adoration, the personal
asteritics, the iou which made the pari] and the

joy of her present unwholesome state — Theresa went into a kind of
hysterical trance, something like that which she had had on the day
of the Harvest Festival after her first confession in the sacristy. She
had been much moved during the service, weeping bitterly during
the ccuifrsMoii, the psalms, the hymns ; she was oppressed by a sense
of spiritual sin which only Superior could remove — of her lost con-
dition wherein only Superior could save. But be was so far off! — he
was hie the Holy Mother whose protection she invoked— Uke that
Dread Iking Himself whose wrath she deprecated. The schoolroom
aund ill that was in it faded into darkness — only the vicar's figure
stMd rot in light as he knelt by the reading desk and read tin
« lvj»es of th , to which the congregation and the choir re-

*pcoded. Gradually she lost all sense of where she was ; time flowed
***» eternity and circumstance was swallowed up in feeling. She
Vnch, with eyes strained on this beloved man whom fancy and far.a-
lioan tad rendered more beautiful than before, but had also made
i»fcl«id to be feared , the responses died on her lips, the sound of
•■died from her hearing, and when the service was over and all
•e ftom their knees she was, kneeling still, rigid, white, over-
•^hu loit to all outward sense and reason alike.
Audi Catherine touched her.
"Theresa ! " she whispered, " are you asleep ? "
At the first the girl did QOl n wer, but 011 the second touch her
aadcnhg senses returned, and with a shriek that startled all in the
^**» she cried out :

*' Superior I Beloved Superior I Save me ! Oh save me ! 1 am
•ithout you ! Cod has forsaken me — my God in man do you

Then she fell backwards in an uncontrollable fit of hysterica ;

"Peking, sobbing, screaming, beating the air with her hands, fighting

Buginary foes, calling again on the vicar to save her, and

a**J through all the degrading phases of this terrible temporary

The women sitting nearest to her gathered round her. Aunt

^"fcrine, herself in hysterics of a milder kind, screamed out thai

^e «s possessed and besought Superior to exorcise the demon and

***& her niece to reason and calmness. Miss Pryor, shedding

^S chafed her hand and called her " poor dear " and "afflicted

'52

The Gentleman's Magazine.

lamb ; " while Sister Agin oramon sense in spile of

all her fanatical follies, tried ity of voice would do ; and

Mrs. Neshiti uiil : "Carry her out ioto the fresh air and dash cold
water in hi I

Virginia, pale and trembling, prayed fervently to the Blessed
Virgin as her contribution to the healing methods <>l DMtM ,

and Cuthbcri mechanically took up the tliuribleand swung a i
of incense into the room. But nothing of this was of much avail
nil Ringrove, leaving hii pi. nc," strode ■ little griariv to the agitated
group, tad taking up the screaming girl in Iris aims carried her,
struggling and Crying out like one in agony, into the open space of

on the gravel.
Hid before any one knew vhftt was being done, Mrs. Nesliitt dashed

a few < upaful of cold wati by degrees restore

lc 1km

But it had been a horrible e tober linst

the near, both now and when the time of reaction should com
indeed it ever should '

The next day the vicar went to Churchlands, armed with the
scourge which it was his duty to use.

He found Theresa lying on the sofa, looking llushed and breathing
lly. As became into the room she ip with ft- «

delight yet dread, afraid that he would scold her for the scene of
yesterday, but too happy to be in his adored presence
ions to conceal her joy.

" My child ! you have grieved me," he said paternally, gr..
with a line mingling of sorrow and rebuke. And it cost hi
thing to speak to be

and took hei hot thin hand i" hit. "Now I have i le to talk 10

jroilt* he Continued. *' I must have something don i

will break ell ouj hearts i

"Howgoi re, and to such a wi .urrmi

Theresa, her large n; with tears.

iic smoothed her d
when they wet but somehow his touch was diffi i

i what it always was. A woman's love has strange
and Theresa's natur

though her perct; not obscured. tbtj st

ikes thosi re, sluunefi

lice,

" Dear Super!
look which told all tlut I

Under which Lord?

'53

"I am very unhappy ■boot you, Theresa," Mid the rfcu in his
s»«elwt voice, and how sweet he could make it when he chose I
,r Superior !" she said again.
Her heart was too full for more titan these half-sobbing intex-
jsctiocs ; and that he should be unhappy when he might have been
agrj was too delightful to het tool (be any pretence of deprecation.
<-. Iwen thinking earnestly of what would be bes.t fot you,"
u on tossy, looking sway from her— at the window opposl
kkeaman in deep a ion, only thinking of what he is Dying,

• which he is looking. "All List night 1
r thinking of you and praying fur you. Vour painful attack
me more anguish than I can well mpren. No; do not speak,
child t listen to [me in humility and siU-in.e"— this with sudden
Mverky. "1 have a plan for you. It is that you leave Crostholmc
for a »hile, and trys milder climate. I should like you to go to
Prnuace. I have friends there who would look after you ; the
phot* lovely, the air delicious, and you would thus avoid the cold
cw *ni m> pernicious here in the spring."

"Oh, Superior! I could not leave Crosshotme,' cried poor
kraa trembling and with a sudden rush of tears. "The dear

my t! . -I could not give then up "

-'■ -ircastic smile crossed the ricar's thin Hps. That bead roll
of rtuon.1 why, and the governii l( It out !

I my desire; I sin lure of th.it,'' he said with

Skc covered her face.

ihe said, the hot teat

ttfln* . igh her wasted fingers ; " hut indeed it will be such

to leave home that 1 am sure 1 shall be far worse than

' *n now ; and I am not ill, dear Superior. I am nut indeed I

than I was."

Ed her face as she said this, pitiful, pleading, eloquent

of her grief, of her love 1 1 was a face that might

■** excused any man's yielding to the weakness of compassion, but

0 Mr, I jscelles at that moment it was hideous and hateful.

You think yourself stronger than you arc, as do all invalids in

condition," he said coldly in ipite of himself. Could nothing

Of those burning eyes ? " Your friends know better

you how ill you are, and how much you need care at this time.

eks in a favourable climate will probably restore you to

usual health, and make us all happy about you again."

" Do not send me away, Superior," she half whispered, lasuv^ owe

KTOC«,

Asa

Ofrrtt.-.,

154 The Gentleman's Magazinr.

hand on his arm in entreaty. "Let me stay with you all. I will
submit to any restrictions you please, it" only 1 may stay at home. I
shall get quite well when the spring tomes, and I get rid of this
horrid cold ; and then you will give me l»ack my work in the dear

uroh when it ia opened. I have bo ing

meant to be playful and th.i I of the

saddest pathos. " I have obeyed you so faithfully in all that )
have ordered ; now let me have my own way for once— let me M «>
here ; do not send me from home."

' I 01 your own good, Theresa,1 said the vicar with hi'-
smile and in his softest voice, but with his eyes at their hardest
" It will be no pleasure to me to lose you out of my congreg.it:
but for your i go. Remember that dreadful, tl

awful scene of yesterday. ">'■ m have tliat repeated."

He said this with -•' fierce uncontrollable burst ofim

i • Iron hi !''■■' ■■ while he Bung her hand &i n

•• It was fucli

U never httppeni d
Theresa, i .ed.

" it might, but it hail do
meaning. " Vou

-t leave hon . without qt

your penani e foi jrour tin

■• Hut hoi i h ihi I" :t ptai t i

th .ill. -ii'iin. • in. i ground with um

.I')1.

" Change of air i:. iid the vi

" i led beseechingly.

i arts that obey Iter, Peace comes

by the way of duty and obedience," he ann betj

.one he y as well . : "The

is not o:i i' ii in argue, Theresa. It ia my will tlui you ga

Need 1 suy more ? "

did not answer, but taking

the will
voi'
At t

•

Under which Lord?

'55

humbly. " 1 should think you wanted no help with her.
tiful," he added, writhing himself into an attitude.
'Induce her to submit cheerfully to the inconvenience of leaving
:fbra little while,"" Mr. I.ascclles answered.
"Why should sister leave home?" asked Cuthbert who had
Wv adopted this somewhat quaint form of speech :is sounding
rapt and antiquated.

"Because of the dear child', state of health, which diitn sei
u," aid Mr. Lascelles, looking above Theresa's head compas-

wate'v. "Change to a warmer climate will do her good till the
pujhis really settled."

' It will be hard to go," said Theresa: but she added submis-
■rff, though the words almost strangled her : " but of course
kpenor knows best, and. if he wishes it, I am ready to obey."

Aaodd expression came on Cuthtx rt i lace. I fumble and down-
falls it always was when he was dealing with Mr. Lascelles, it was
*» quite sincere There Bitted over ii too the reflection of the
*a$it : If so submissive-, what u<-n\ of help tram nie? and wh;ii
<ha tha pretence of impotence hide ? Aloud, he said hesitatingly :
*Sj«er can scarce go alone,"

"1 aire provided for all that," answered the vicar, master of all
atittua. "I have friends who will look after her at IVii.-.hh c,
*w*l wish her to go ; and she must take DtusIIj."
Dsialla *ai the ntaid.

"1 think that our aunt will hardly like sister to go alone," said
•"Mfcrt returning to the i itli the tenacity of his kind.

'Sot it* I undertake the responsibility ? " asked the vicar with a
i which a turn of the stale would dispose to menace. He
I obedience from his creatures; and this future curate of
lis he but the chief of his creatures?
1 shuftkd his feet uneasily.
urc always kind and thoughtful, dear Superior," he said,
*nt, craven, flattering as ever, but with the same odd accent of
""«■% naming through his blandishments as before. " Still, we
">bnj: : much to each other, sister and I ami out aunt,

it will be a trial to our aunt to let sister go alone ; and
t rough, too."
Tralsiie the tain da of perfection," said the vicar,

"tin authority, yes," said Cuthbert, lowering his eyes.

»," said Mr. Lascelles emphatically.
kbm bent his head and joined his hands together like a
'■"Ob Reaving the benediction of a saint.

156 The Gentleman's Magazine.

•' As now," he echoed reverentially ; hui Ml looie lips crisped a
very little and the voice was dry and hard.

"The question then is settled, and Theresa goe» to Penzance
next week,' said the vicar.

"If you wish it, Superior," replied Thcresi, giving up her love
for love's very sake. But a look of such despair came into her face
that even Mr. LasoeUes was touched to the point of compassion if

" If you are good I 0011 you can return toon," he said

kindly. " You need however more car* than you y
and I must provide for your having it. We have no:
faithful daughters of the Church, thai we can afford to lo
one as you."

" Thank you," said Theresa with a swift upward glance of adora-
tion. " When you approve, Superior, my eons'
know no higher author r.

Again Cuthbett shuffled hi -v. but he echoed

I words, and said: "Our highest," like a parrot repeating a
.

He was sittini nedUevsl aititu » on the

ground and his hands joined together flatwise, resl

"The highest is the lust, said Mr. Lasccl lly.

" Yours is the highest It is the same as God's ! " ■ rsa.

"1 do my best to make myself a faithful interpret! *afe

guide, but I often fall like Others. I am only a
1 ar, with a smile of graceful humility.

"To me more than a man!" murmured There! then she

closed her eyes and her toad sank deeper into the pillow again,
as so oltcn before, Scmclc over whom the breath of her Cod lia*
passed

If the man's heart waxed fat for gratified pride, what wonder?
True, folly, fanaticism, vanity, passion,

noblest set of motives r hi«

kind. But when that influence is gained ? — when he can
wife to repudiate her husband and transfer to hi
duty and obedience which were rightfully that other'*?
can inspire a good girl with a

of her youth from the sweet modesty of maidenhood to
desttn -nad?— when he can destroy the in-

c of a tea i.ee adoring child ? — roil

in his own count:
ground from imd oscr and closer till soon there would

Under whuh Lord ?

•57

be nothing left for him but the final fall? — when he can carry all before
him ind subdue every stronghold that he assaults ? — what man-el that
he should be proud and assume the quasi-divine and personally
infallible power which no one has the courage or the common sense
to deny? The position of a ritualist " priest " is about the proudest
of all in the world of human leaders. Freed from the close organiza-
tion, the authority of the Romish Church, he is absolute in his own
domain ; and no one understood this better than the smooth-voiced
tHvsoulcd Honourable and Reverend I.-utncclot Lascelles, Vicar
cf Crossholme, 3nd Richard Fullciton's conquering foe.

When he had gone, Cuthbert, unbuckling himself as it were from
hismc&cvalism and slouching into the commonplace, took up the
ptoblc and spoke tartly to his sister, saying that .she pave way too
much to the vicar — he did not call him Superior, but simply the
iQd paid him a vast deal too much honour.
"How can I ? :' said Theresa. "Too much honour ! my director,
»pnest,and in authority over me I "

i certain extent," hesitated Cuthbert

' IVhat tin you mean, Cuthbert ? Are you cooling towards

S«perw?" cried 1 , half rising in her horror. This was of a truth

hugtog sacrilege into the In 'use.

"So, I am not cooling to him at all," he answered, shuffling ;

•^sumptions are n little extreme. He has not authority for

*Aithc says and does."

"No one would have more over me," said Theresa, a little beside
'"oea ning
He left her dark, but returned, as perhaps a slight lead :

lit that dear Father Truscott would support my view if I

iJhefare him for decision. I think he would give it as his opinion

*M jour submission to Superior savoured a little of idolatry,

•> m i sin against the Church th.it ranks with witchcraft. You

'"■dfsay that Mrs. FulIcrtoB's submission is extreme and not

Wertolesome."

'She is married," replied Theresa hastily ; " I am not. That

^*3 the difference."

Soil did • but neither brother nor sister saw clearly the full signi-

Xtoftiris bit of naive reasoning on the girl's part, who thus un-

*wJy showed the direction of her own feelings, and perhaps

•fcjkuiiMr of her hopes.

Hie end of this, as of other conversations of the like kind,
*» tha, orer-excited, distressed, and disappointed — she did not
■fcnund why — Theresa cried and sobbed so violently that she

1 58

The Gen//eman's Magazine.

broke one of the smaller vessels and dyed her handkerchief with
blood. There had been a good deal of this alarming haemorrhage of
l.ite, but no one knew of it save Drusilla; and she was bound over 10
sccresy. More than half in love as she was on her own account with
the handsome vicar, and reading only too clearly the state to whidi
poor There:.;i had reduced herself, she kept all thai she knew a dose
secret. She did not wish to distress her young mistress, nor to brir^t
harm or confusion to the dear vicar ; and she was right in thin
Aunt Catherine too weak, «Od Cuthbert too silly, to be of use 1
she told them all she knew — right too in feeling that There**
must fight it out l»y herself and be lost or saved — " as God wills,"
said Drusilla piously, mistaking frilly for fate.

ClIAlTKR XXIV.

AM' I III -MOKE I'HKKEOF.

Things always enlarge themselves in the telling, and thi
Cg] attack of Theresa was exaggerated out of all likeness to it
self. Kvery kind of -.haineful thing was slid, every kind of inl
reason given for wliat mu really only the physical break-down of
sickly girl weakened by fating and disease, both, and excited by
gion and love in one. Everyone was astir, everyone felt \»
outraged on which of the two sides he or sin stood ; and
whole neighbourhood was as busy as ■ nest of ants when its
ways are laid bare. Even Mr. l.isccllcs. though he had for
much, had not fully realized to what extent the fire of scandal
run on the dry stubble of credulity and love of gossip ; and for
moment stood aghast at the mischief which his ardent and de
penitent had unwittingly wrought him. She, who would have
her life for him, bad herseU lighted this fire whii
consume him — had herself lei loose the howling pack of dctrac
and contemners who were to bants and afftii i, if not to
destroy him ! He was sorry for her, but be was more sorry for hsi
and though in the depths of his consciousness he was vexed with him
self, on the surface of things, ami so i o '» now ledgroent went,

he blamed her only and held himself more sinned against than
sinning.

The news spread as far as Starton, and reached Lady Mai
unreluctant cars. By this time it had bulged considerably, and low

Under which Lord?

159

jfeosi all its 0rigin.1l form ; but my lady accepted it as it was,
DtetKly, and rubbed her hands at the chance it gave her. Hating
nrualism as she did, it was a joyful day to her when she could hit a
Hot on the professors, and pounce down on a weak place in the
bmnutity of those ghostly fathers and spiritual daughters. And on
this occasion her satisfaction was complete She believed implicitly
aB dm the outlying world proclaimed. There was no doubt about it.
Thee never is any doubt about things of which ire know absolutely
and whereof «c never examine the evidence ; and it was sort!
the indubitable four made up of two and two, thai Mr. Lascelles
hadbeea Airting with Theresa Molyncux, and now had jilted and
taopii . And if the girl had been silly enough to fall in love

«irti him, and was breaking her heart at the disappointment, he

•sjhl to be made 10 marry her, said I-uly Maine; or else, she added,
hxvenie of retributive strong .is her knowledge was weak,

ka gown ought to be taken from him. She had no patient, e, she laid,
»nh these Pharisees who go about among silly women and devour
lea ; and if sin management of things, she would

•ate all that kind of thing pi n

.Mu for the main body o( ' n>selytisers if the Lady Maine*

"Protestantism had it all their own way, and the personal love of
tlor female disciples were accounted to them for sin ! — and good-bye
kthe influence of the priesthood if it might deal only with the intel-
*u of mm, and not trade on the heart of woman '.— that heart with
til ts strength and weakness, its hopes, it^ fears, us passions, its de-
an on which they build their stronghold and found their empire.
atwoald indeed be iIil I cii.|i without the oil, the thorns laid be-

ihi hand to make them of use.

Bat though Theresa had been wor;c than ^illy to have fallen in

with M ■ -, and more than reprehensible to have shown

the bad done so in public— and at church too, of all places in

world! -Mill she was motln id Lady Maine was one of

3K. by no means necessarily maternal, women to «i hum an orphan

b the M object for all kinds of imp. 1 1 in. 1 !i . and bullying under

bead of advice, because, poor thing, she has no mother

o tell her an

And now, though she abhorred the whole Papi its, as she

■Bed the congregation at Crossholme, yet this was an occasion when

Kttjran ci d to womanly duty ; and Lady Maine

it to be an imperative dutj to no over to Churchlands and

to that silly little owl plainly. Poor foolish thing!" she

holding herself erect ; Ci she has no one to guide her ; for that

160 The Gentleman's Magazine.

rubbish,

weak-brained old aunt of hers, with her saints and her
better than a magpie about the girl. I doubt if she knows the
of a leech from the tail, or how a mustard-plaistcr should l>c put <
and I dare say if the thunder turned the milk sour she wouli
that some saint had done it for punishment ; though, for the n
of that," said Lady Maine, her thought making a. sudden rctun
might be Satan who had had a hand in it. For we know tr
goes about like a roaring lion seeking whom he may devour
why not the milk as well as anything else ? "

Prompt and decided, Lady Maine drove off at once on

on of " tallying" Theresa Molyneux ; and of course fouro

at home — and visible. With the feverish obstinacy that characti

lur disease, the poor girl insisted on it that -.he was not really

she was getting better daily, and n won as the spring
the would be Quite well. Meanwhile she would give up nothing
she could possibly retain, and she would not give up seeing those
might call. For this week she was forbidden to leave the h<
but Superior had not interdicted visitors, of whom Lady Maim
the first.

She came into the room with her usual martial stride and mi
bearing. Her thickly wadded mantle of black velvet, trimmed
broad bands of Russian '■able, made her look biggcT than she i
was ; and her sweeping train of heavy silk, and her high be
amounted by a plume of hearse like feathers, increased her J
rent suture by at the least eight or ten inches. Truly she w»s j
midablc creature to look at ; anil her (ieep-toned voice, wid
uncompromising directness on which she prided herself, mack
formidable to listen to.

She stood over the flushed and attenuated girl lying on t
as if she had been a nightmare in bodily substance ; and
knew instinctively that she had an ordeal to face. She was
that this rasping creature had been let in and both Aunt Cadi
and Cuthbert DOl ' Bui U the thing was on her it had to be
through, and l.-idy Maine was mortal like any other and
dinner hour at the end of the clay.

"Well, Miss Molyneux," began my lady severely, "a
may you be to-day ? "

"Very well, thank you, Lady Maine," mid I bema.

" Vou call this being very well, do you ? I don't ; and I doa
how you could be much worse, you foolish child, to be alive
on that sofa at all."

•I am getting better," said Theresa; and then she

hen she coi

Under which Lord?

161

with what Lady Maine, in speaking of this interview, called "that
dwdn-ard cough of hers— and she saying she was quite well indeed !
It ws downright impiety and flying in the face of Providem a |

"And what have you to say for yourself, making llut precious
s(«ne that 1 heard of in church, last Sunday ? " asked my lady as
jetody as before. " Pretty goings-on indeed when a young woman
Kit you can go shrieking and screaming in the middle of the Litany,
ud accuse herself of goodness knows what sins and wickednesses I
hi time the Bishop looked you all up here in this blackholc of
Papistry — that is my opinion ; and the sooner a stop is put to all
uiimpiety and idolatry the tetter for every one concerned. It isn't
fanrt, Miss Molyncux ; and now you sec where all your High
Qrarch vagaries have led you ' "

" I do not suppose I am the only one who has been taken ill in
dutch," said Theresa, plucking up a spirit ; "and I do not sec what
*e High Church, as you call it— what our Anglicanism— has to do
rithiL"

" listen to the poll-parrot ! " cried my lady disdainfully. " No ;
ad you are not the first -illy girl who has fallen in love with a
■nth-tongued, designing prist ' «he added.

uLady Maine! leteM, raising herself in her indig-

■6m

"Oh yes! it is all very well to say, 'Lady Maine' here, and
lady Maine' there, but Lady Matnc knows what she is about as
tsajiny one can tell i 'his is just the simple truth, Miss

Ifeiyoflu— you arc madly in love with that good-for-nothing parson
"* Jots, and the whole county knows it and is talking of it.
*i if your brother docs not take it up and bring it into court, he
i*fr. That's all I have to S3)

"My brother ! do you think he believes such an infamy as this ! "
■ Theresa violent]; agitated.

"Of course you denj it ; all gh"ll do when things are as plain a;
> *arlet shawl of mine. But others must be allowed to judge,"
dy grimly. "And a- far as I myself go, I have no doubt
lAcraattcr. You have fallen 1k.hI ovei ears in love, I tell you ;
Tfluirca foolish girl for your pains. That kind of man never
preme contempt. " He would lose half
Wver over girls like you if he did. Cannot you see that for your-
■So take my adva,-. The wisest thing you can do is to wipe
4>» foBy out of your mind and begin afresh. Make a clean
your ritualism; playing with the fire of Romanism von

aa — four abominable confession, Mr.
rw. cou-v. xo. 17S4. m

Lascelles, hysterics, and

162

The Gentleman's Magazine.

nil the ml of H i and tot« lhame to yourself thai you have
foolish hitherto, and resolve to be wiser for the future. Yon may
forgiven as far . -is you have gone, because you have no mothcs
tell you things, and keep you in the right way— and that aunt
is little better than a child herself; l)ut now that 1 have tpofcan
you, you have no excuse. You cannot say that you have not
told the truth and put right."

" I do not sec what you wish me to give up, Lady Maine,"
Theresa, whose answer was delayed because of a terrible fit of coi
ing, during which Lady Maine patted her back rather forcibly,
she had been choking, and nearly killed her on the spot
you wish me not to go to church? What is it you think sn
in our lives ?"

"What do I think wicked, child? Your putting your faith
stocks ami stones instead of in the precious Scriptures — your worship
of the creature I the Creator, and letting Mr. 1 .ascetics cany

you off your feet, as you do. It is not decent, I tell you ! You an
iimiii .irried girl too! And thai pretty little Mrs. 1-ullcrton with a
bobudl it It downright briqtrirj and the abomination of d
tion ; that is what it is, and so 1 till yofl ""

" I do not know what you mean," said Theresa wearily, and lu
her face inwards to the pillow

'• Why ! don't you confess, and take the sacrament every week,
have saints' days, and processions and vestments, and spend
than halt your time in church ?" the lady said in a surprised
"And then you say you don't know what 1 mi an, indeed!
more could I mean, and what more COlltd fOU all do? Would
make that parson oi POUraapopi at once? Yon have do
most you could ; if you did more, you d have to carry him about
a gilt idol with diamond eyes! I <i if the truth ami k

yon kiss his foot, as those benighted Romans do with their Po
It would be only like you all if you did."

" He is worthy of it,"1 said Theresa with strange passion.

I^ady Maine rose.

■ I sec tliat you are given over to your witchcrafts and idolai
she said in her deep, bclUmouthed way ; " and I see that my ki
Christian endeavour to bn i! h k to the truth of tl

not been met in the spirit whit li it deserved. I, a Christian mo1
come to offer you, a motlu -rless girl, good advice; to slww you wi
you have done wrong, and how you can repent. You put up J
shoulder, and tarn a deaf ear to inc. Don't say, however, that
hare not been warned. At the last Day remember you will have

Under wftich Lord?

»63

:u account for all your means of grace misused; and thi

: to-day will be one of them.''
;'I should have to give an account if I neglected the means held
out to me by the dear Church," said Theresa, still too much Cowed
to know the cooling influence of social fear.

"Poor misguided girl ! I will pray for you," said my lady with
acrimony. " I will pray that you ni >y be led into the way of QoejM I
smb.'

-Rather ask the prayers of the Church for yourself, that you
««y be made one of her children." retorted Theresa.

"You are obstinate and impertinent !" said my lady angrily. " 1
i wasting my time here."

" 1 mutt always love die Church and obey beg teaching, through
'« priests," said Theresa.

"May God forgive you !" MJd l*dj Maine, turning from the
ceeck by which she had l>een standing, and striding out .it the room
fte one who has discharge < I her conscience of a heavy burden, and
■wis free to harbour in its stead a due amount of righteous in-
ifutioa.

And when she had gone, Theresa had another fit of con
i ended in again that fatal red line — the measure that told how
aft was wasting.

lady Maine was not die only woman who came to play the part
of l chastizing mother to the child of many and daughter oi none,
r Agnes also took on herself the office which indeed washers
frijfctof place — hers according to her rank in the local theoi rati
-and came to admi on and rebuke in her own

If my lady was rough as granite, the Sister was sharp as steel.
•pared this poor erring Sappho of ecclesiastic-ism no more
dad the coarse-grained, military-minded lady of Starton. She
to her certainly Stn even smilingly and with her best

She asked after her health down to the minutest
wiih a pathological kind of sympathy that would have made
fortune of a hospital nurse. Then she touched on the scene of
Sunday ; said it was a pity and a grievous ofli nc« that must be
for: ' 'light to 1 tfoi help against the tempta-

and »n be supported in her weakness.
Aad when Theresa averred that she had — that she had |
prayed till all grew dark abou i she felt a il God had

her and given her over into the dutches of Satan — the
bent her eyes on her with a look so searching, so steady, that

M 2

1 64 The Gentleman's Magazine.

Theresa quitted • while she said, b bo gentlest voice, her

BtJUesi maimer :

- You did not ask in the right way, my child, else grace would
have come to you. You make the Eternal Promise <>f no avail if you
do not sec this."

" I did my best." said Theresa weeping.

"Ah !" said the Sister, bland, imperturbable, hard, serere
fly was in the ointment, and it was some earthly tilm of your own
corrupt nature that had come between you and eternal hy

i , i nng on, she said in t' my of personal smooth

intrinsic cruelt> :

'I BUlM tell fOU p.nw, ..I,..: IIri. mi. how Kreaily Su|>crior wa»
shocked at the whole scene. 1 know how good and kind I
and that in ill probabi&tj! be would not tell you what he felt when
lied You arc iti a <!lTi< :it .- state of health at this moment, and
be "null I wish to spare you. He is never oi»e to break the bruised
reed ; bUl bf wen revolted and distressed bCyOOd all measure.
Nothing but the grace which surrounds him could have borne him

li that painful trial with the dignity and p:i
his own— the ideal of the Christian gentleman as he

She watched Theresa narrowly while she |>raiscd Iver brother so
enthusiastically. It was part of the punishment that she had devised
for the girl, with whom indeed she was so irate that it was with great
difficulty she could control herself even to this outward sc

ofqaietaeM.

" I am so sorry!" cried Theresa, her ready tears flc
"And he is so splendid — so great ! To think that I, of
should have vexed him ! "

" It was a grievous pity," said the HkeSopc

entially pure-minded and self-controlled, these w scs of

iplincd nature in woman-- these mad, screaming h\
nothing— arc beyond all things luteful. Women arc to him
> sense sacred creatures; as they are to all men wit

ciple*. ib wfeba to

vaintu i martyrs ; ind anything else |»ains an

see 1 kn iddcd

with i

said Theresa dejc How sorry and ashamed

Ian.

man who has vowed hi cfc\ t i<> the : the

h — who •
Agnes with an intensity of emphasis whu . ', , , ■

Uttdcr which Lord '

'65

would have said was passionate feminine spitefulncss— " a man who
has a horror of all coarseness and pabKctty, to be appealed to in the
midst of his holy office by a girl in the crowd of his congregation
going into a shrieking fit of hysterica ! It was most unfortunate —
most lamentable on all accounts ; and will give the enemy cause to
rejoice over him !" said Sister Agnes, with a tight and nervous
cttsping of her hands together to prevent that irritable fluking of the
tagers of less subdued people.

"If I could do am thing *' murmur. <1 pool ILi. -a, between

Mhbiog and that dreadful cou;
"Noi yoacanool) perform penance lot youi own sin," said the
"The public ahame and hindrance Superior must

toe through as he best can. It will be a hard trial, but God ■M
Mtm^then him t" bear it. But we looked for such a

Hanuling-blnck to our work here from i.v, Theresa. Yon have been
Oterf our dearest and most caitd for, and from yon has . omc tins
isult, this terrible wrong-doing I

have mercy ! " cried the poor girl, holding out her
HWand catching at the Sister convulsively.

The Sister unclasped her hand with her strong vice-like grip.
" I will have no scene*. There- 1 id severely. " Be quiet,

thi instant, or 1 ve you."

She might as well have commanded the waves .1! the sea to be

■IL Sorrow and ihl .hat she knew— unexpressed anguish

**»hat she did ncK know — overpowered her, weak as she was ; and

•fcta Sister Agnes rang the bell and summoned Drusilla to her

tortured mistres the maid both thought th.u she would have

1-. their hands

'Faugh''' said the Sister brushing her dress hastily, as she left

is full of her shameless love ! I feel unclean— as if

I had been with B leper: Ah, this leprosy of passion— this

rilcocw of earth that clings about Itich girls and women ! And my

brother, who encourage.-, n all 1 bo has made both this little fool

tod Mrs. Fullcrton, and half a hundred more, in love with him —

a a shameful ! hideous! I will luve no more of it. My soul turns

apimt it all. 1 hate this pla< e and all the work that goes on in it,

and I lute myself that I ever gave in to the scheme of helping it

i' -inl It is insincere, personal, vicious, earthly. The very

piwK is Ijurvcclot's dangerous |K>wcr over Hermione Fullcrton ;

awl though tcard that atheist husband of hers, ibj is

infamously wrong in her moti

.Ic thinking all this bitterly, she suddenly came upon Virginia,

166

The Gentleman's Magazine.

walking alone, in her Lenten robes of solemn black relieved only by
the blue scarf which she wore in token of the Heavenly Mother
whose child she was.

" I (ere Bt least is one whose touch is pure 1 " she said to herself;
"and wh.. abhors as much as I do the follies of the wilier sex
u ,i the M' a "i the titer!"

In whi. h 1 r i if catalogue the Sister summarized the whole of that
portion of humanity which loves ace on ling to nature, and does not
was- iona and reveries the forces given for humanity and

reality.

" My Mother!" said Virginia with fervour

tad when the Sister answered back, " My good child, well met I "
the girl's happiness was complete— as complete as was at any time
Theresa's when Superior made her understand that he loved her like a
nun, while directing her like a. spirit j made her

■ eommined rrimsell by one word or gesture which lie could
I iin away on the score of paternal guidance, and as having
no more special meaning than if she had been a child, or both a pair
iiiu images.

whole place continued in an uproar, and, in spite of the

id their unwearied >f explanation, thing*

tool s handsome celibate wl. roduoed ritualism

ott was m 'de

tic l»y, and by no means in a straight line, to hi* friend round
sc feet all ..es of scandal surged ; and to recommend to

him, allusively, a little more discipline and a little less (a.--

Spcaking in . i" the best'eonduct of a congregation, and

iuscott *-• be,

for his jiart, had always fought shyof In stt ri* a I tetn| vcr

precious their teal when won. He found them tl» iticnlt of

all to ni.in.i^e, ->nd thnryi capable of doing as much ltarm at good.
" The) personify too murh," he said, looking at the cviling

map of fin dial had come into the whitewash.

I priest, howw. to them, ami tl tier

»» their personal (J s wretched creatures,

ihctmctvcs to wfl

irtihtnfrr]
Bl we must brave all danger for the aakc of the cam that may
■-i:J Mr. lav clla j,-ra c»

saw fighting with •

handling,'' said the Fathej,
* myself 1 hate always svoided the whole rangx i.vac

Under which Lord ' 167

Bvrhom I have sought to influence were eminently safe by tern,
it as well as principle. And when I was a younger man I
ns even more careful. The Church will never be safe from misad-
wntares and misundcrsi he continued, "until the celibacy

afthe clergy is made part of the legal condition of orders, so that no
dee hopes can Ik- powiblft Then, if women love they will love with
their eyes open and to their on n shame and damnation."

Hut Mr. I-ascellcs objected, and said he thought that this, like
tuny other things, should be a matter of choice and individual
•ill ; and that enforced celibacy would deprive of its grace and benefit
Alt which was voluntarily undertaken.

! " said Father Truscott trailing ; " it is always the same
Oing with you, Superior. Vim I diarfpluio outside yourself,

»i want to be at the head of .ill ion and authority.

Yetniuothc commandant — yuu will not be lieutenant; and your
. has not only its spiritual danger but its organic weakness —
J»»v close rcasoner could point out."

b was a bold thing to say, even from a lather ; but the vicar did
Mtetcnt the liberty. On the contrary he smiled too, joined his
fand* together according to hi-- wont, beat his clean, well-kept taper
hgertrps lightly against each other, and accepted bis rebuke as meekly
i been a little girl at the knee of her mother. A rebuke
Wording to Father Truscott, it was his title to honour to Mr. Lascclles.
Minis war with the I !i shops, as well as with the law of the land, which
o* ritualist clergy arc carrying on in England, and where each man
* leader, general, bishop, pope to himself, the very charm of the
West lies in the fact that while all make the freedom of the Church
to exercise tyranny over the laity the main object, each fights in
fcj o«n way, and pays no obedience to any authority whatsoever,
other than that which he chooses to elect for his own particular
pndince- Bashi-bazouks of ecclesiasticism as they are, only the
Metre and the humble go over to Rome, where rightfully they
Wong ; because they only will give up this terrible fascination of
peaonal power— this seductive snare of spiritual autocracy —for the
■he of what they believe to be the truth. And Mr. Lascelles was not
•f these.

"" M r must do what we cum, left by our leaders without guidance
iiwexre,'' said the vicar in reply, with perfect urbanity. " We must
iny against vanity and self-sufficiency ; but until our beloved Church
ha taken to herself her own unfettered rights of organisation, we
Bat each act for the best according to the light vouchsafed."

They looked at each other scarchingly; but neither read what

j 68

The Gentleman s Magazine.

the other wished should be kept hidden. Each man was urn
his aims, hypocritical in his methods ; crafty, self-controlled, secret an
clever. They were well matched in their game, hut between the t»
it was Mr. Lascelles this time who was the dupe.

Not only the blatant exaggerations of the world which kne
nothing and the strictures of his friend who knew too much, it
frosty displeasure of hi* sister and the embarrassed annoyance <
Hermione, troubled the vicar's peace at this time, but anonymix
letters: flew about like tongues of fire, and made that which was ahead
bad still worse than need be. More than one was sent to tla
ICCUfklg him of shameful deeds that would not bear translating hn
speech ; and more than one was sent even to poor Theresa, ill, an
perhaps even now dying, as she was known to be. An expert mig!
have made out a family likeness to the little chandler's weekly btl
for soapand oil and candles ; but the writing was del erl) 'lisguise*
and there were no calligraphic experts at Crossholmc. As
was they came in with the general difficulties and disagreeables oftfi
time ; and though they chafed the proud nature of the I
gentleman as well as the autocratic priest, yet they had to be borne
and all things arc " lived down " at last, thought .Mr. I ..v.- diet.

Meanwhile the talk grew and grew, and the feeling raised thcrcti
was more bitter and yet more bitter in the minds of those who ha
not given in to the new movement, though it brought the phalanx c
believers into apparently .1 still 1 loser, more compact more solid bod)
But to those who were against the whole thing these vile reports *■
shameless commentaries were a weapon which they did not scnfl
to use. Things went so far that one day when the vicar was passu
Tom Moorhcad's forge a word came hissing out with the sparks froi
the iron that struck his car with a sense of burning ; and some oa
standing by the fire laughed brutally. He stopped, turned bad
and stepped inside the threshold.

" Good day, my men," he said with clerical abruptnei
there any one here among you that belongs to God?"

It was a bold thing to do ; but boldness takes in Kngland, aa
some of the men answered him 1 ly enough , if Tom hiinsd

standing there in the ruddy light, with his bushy red heard turned \
flame and his brawny arms liare to the shoulder, gave the horse-fits
which he was forging a vicious blow as if he had had the vii
head between and answered blurlly :

" 1 don't know what you mean by belonging to God, master,
you mean do we belong to that rag and doll shop of yours, I takt
that wc don't, and we don't wish to neither."

Under which Lord"?

169

food time. Ton)," said the victf cheerily, standing there
in the doorway erect, unruffled, Speckle**, the tail Ottalot the high-
ca«e priest ! — " Vou arc too honest • • fellow in your own way tO be
let to go to perdition. The grace which turned Saul the perse-

the Apostle will some day draw you too from the darkness
loihcligh: '

" No, sir, it won't I'm a fossil, 1 am," said Tom with ,1 ji
hi^h. " You can't change a fossil ' "

No." returned the vicar quickly. " Vou can only clear him

1st. That is something, is it not, my man ?— clean him

:hc edge- all that mass of limestone and chalk

Uflfakhha is embedded, ami make him come to his best. Even

you sec. Tom. can be done something with by care; .m.l

to Power which created CM) restore."

"Ah, the jingle goes well ' " said Tom, turning his back rU<

"ha it don 1 me Come rates, beat 1 hand I I here

*ork to do, and can't stand chopping logic with this gentleman all

"Wefl, I will not detain you any longer," said the vicar with
composure. " You arc busy now, I sec. Good day, Tom.

1 day, my men. Remember what I always have to tell you —
awful choice between good and evil, time and eternity, hea\cn

hell, that you are called on to make ami are now making. Let
1 man among you put this question to himself solemnly : — ' What

I chosen? which am I choosing?' Good day. God be with

'Come mates! dang it all I" cried Tom impatiently, "this

has lasted long enough. It may do for a few foolish

as have nothing else to think of, but it won't go down with

We are men, and have learned in quite another school. Here,

, bear a hand and look sharp !

ne of the men said, " Good day, sir," humanely, as the

and no one again flung out that shameful word as he

liar recognizing his English courage in bearding the surliest

1 of them all in his den.

( To bt continued. )

170

The Gentletnaris Magatint.

NOTE ON THE HISTORICAL PLAY
OF KING EDWARD III.

Part I.

THE epitaph of Gcrnui o on Slu»kes|icarc w

mitten by the inn : which penned the following

sentence; an inscription wonhy Of perpetual recotd on the Itgi
of (.iotham or in the day-book of the yet unstranded Ship of
Fools:—

"Thetnas Lord Cromwell -.—Sir John Oldautlt.—A Yorkshire
Tragedy. — The three last pieces are not only unquestionably Shake-
speare's, but in my opinion they deserve to be classed among his
best ami maturest work

This memorable opinion is the verdict of the modest and hid i<

l on Schlegcl : who had likewise in his day the condescension to

our ignorance of the melancholy fad so strangely overlooked

by the contemporaries of Christopher Marlowe, tlut " his verses are

g, bat without energy. So in .. but irui ; too strange, we may

reasonably infer, not to be true. ' July to Go

house of English poetry ever disclosed a secret of this kind : 10
German ears alone has such discord or default l>een ever perceptible
in its harmonies.

Now, the beta with regard to tbi f* era briefly these

TMtunat Lord Cromwell i » piet e ol m h utterly shapeless, spiritless,
bodiless, soulless, senseless, helpless, worthless rubbish, that then
no known writer of Shakespeare's agi
without the infliction of an unwarrani

memory. Sir yohn OUtasl; '.impound piecework of four

minor playwrights, one of them alt nd uthcrwiiw a

i Munday, Drayton, Wilson, and Hal
patchery collided up and St

■ng to pieces
' oarse, crude, and vigorous unproni;
we poatih

i finger), .pose

The Historical Play of King Edward III. 1 7 1

nut during ihe tost ten years of his life he was likely to have taken
fan in any uich d visation.

These arc matters of such obsolete notoriety to all students, that
the very recapitulation of the facts would be an impertinence in a
'ut" »liii:h had not shown itself tolerant of such illimitable ignorance
■da iilablc impudence as may find vent in the duncery

»uckcry of .- Shim Shakespeare Society. And as long as
k"glijh 'lunccs arc found ready to accept and to circulate as critical
K°W the current brass of German pedants, so long will it be worth
■hie to exhibit in the indecorous nakedness of their undraped
"Nudity the presumptions and assumptions of the least incompetent
Jwurers in that foreign school.

The example and the exposure of Schlegel's misadventures in

•fcsbnehave not winced to warn ofl minor blunderers from treading

**il emulous confidence "through forthright* and meanders" in

**e very n of their precursor's tra< ■• •. Among tlie latest

developments of tmpcrlinftnl Imbecility in the Shan Shakespearean

lUartcr of the good town of Gotham, wc may notice the revival of a

*ell-nigh still-bom theory, first dropped in a modest comer of the

1 ftical world exactly a hundred and seventeen years ago. Its parent,

"otwithstandin^ this perhaps venial indiscretion, was apparently an

md modest gentleman, by no means to be confounded with

^jr braxenbrowed and brazen-throated nans of dunces assembling

1 the presidential bray of a professional proficient in the Early

*"-ngh$h dialect of Billingsgate Market. And the play itself, which

*cnuous theorist was fain, with all diffidence, to try whether

**»pl» he might be Ikrrmilted tO foist on the apocrypha] f.uhcihood of

***sakespeare, is not without such minor merits as may exctue us for

*r*tiDg a few minutes on examination ol the theory which tedu to

Confer on it the factitious and artificial attraction of a spurious and

*<lwnttuous interest

"The Kaignc nf Kin:; Edward the tliir.1 : As it hath bin sundrie

ttucs plaied about ih I London," ws published in 1596, and

**>lkough two or tin nymous editions before the date of the

Eeneration was QUI whit I. rn t produced it. Having thus run to the

**d of its natural tether, it fell as naturally into the oblivion which

■•devoured, and has not again disgorged, so many a more precious

todaction of its period. In 1760 it was reprinted in the " 1'rolu-

*>■*' of Edward Capcll, whose text is now before me. Thil editor

•■the first mortal to suggest that his newly unearthed treasure

•ight possibly be a windfall from the topless tree of Shakespeare.

long, as I have said, a duly modest and an evidently honest man ,

172 The Gentleman's Magazine.

he admits "with cwdoui " ft (o* Oi tittle of " external

UOCrer to be alleged in support of tliks gratuitous

odoo bat he submits, with some fair show of reason, that

thttcb* certain "rctembhuia between th i ■

Shakespeare's) "earhei perforn

and, without the slightest show of any reason whatever, he appends to

thii butnbh .mil plausible pi rtion

Lt the time ol itsap] " there was no knoii equal

plaj "; wherea imputation there were, 1

I Id my, On the authority ol i:.i dsIowc least adozen —

and noil::. i score. In one then newly

dead, too long before his time, whose memory star-,
above the possible a of such a work ill

Shakespeare's very self.
Of one point we may be sure, ereti where 90 much is unsur
wc find it here: in the tun at!, . rase of the Persian

;ius, "one thing is certain, and the real is lies." The author
of Ki mrf III. was a devout student and a humble foil

of Christopher Marlowe, not ret wholly disengaged by that .<■
and beneficent influence from all attrai uon inwards the
veins o( rhyming mother-wit*:" and fittei on the whole lo follow
this easier and earlier vein of writing, half I] . a and half

k.;i ii , than to 'ii his punier drabs the young giant's newly

fashioned buskin of blank verse 1 owing struggle,

the traces of dusinconipli i^hout

in the alternate prevaleo and irreconcilable

styles . ■ in' ii ) el il n of a do

authorship. Foe the ioi which mi

whole work, the spirit lea and imbue

design, is <>i a piece, toti throughoi ;>tiblc

to the eye, a tOU< by the finger, alike of a scholiast

and a d.i:

istakablc bj ll e ;udent an;'
indiscernible to the sciolist ei may be trie

demcr: oi involv

■sncsK or baste II re is not th'
of a rough and ready hand; here

in die discharge of
of an imposition somcthi:. 'fully

■
the latter half of Tht Jr. to, in the burl icrludesoT

Doctor Faujtus, and well-nigh throughout the whole scheme and

The Historical Play of King lidivard Iff. 1 73

cone of Tfts Uasuert <r/ flarit. Whatever in

111. i* mediocre or wor dentij such OS it is through no

pmicmatc or slovenly precipitation of handiwork, but through pure
awnpetence to do better. The blame of the failure, the shame of
••k Aortcoming, cannot be laid to the account of any momentary
cms or default in emotion, of passing exhaustion or excitement,
*tfwem>ittent impulse and reaction; it is an indication of lifelong
"i irremediable impotence. And it is further to be noted that by
6f the least unsuccessful parts of the play are also by far the most
unimportant The capacity of the author seems to sin ink and swell
^/lemately, to erect its plumes and deject them, to contract and to
<hl*te the range and orbit of its flight, in a steadily inverse degree to
*he proportionate interest of the subject ur worth of the topic in
hand. There could lie no surer proof that it 1. neither the early nor
«hc hasty work of a great or even a remarkable poet. It is the best
**at could be done at any time by a ton .< i< n:i his and studious
Workman of technically iasumcieat culture and of naturally limited
means.

1 would not, however, be supposed to undervalue the genuine

d graceful ability of execution displayed by the author at his best.

He could write at times viiy mm li after the earliest fashion of the

»dalewcm Shakespeare; in other words, after the fashion of the day

<**" koor, to which in some degree the greatest writer of that hour or

:°at day cannot choose but conform at Starting, and the smallest

^nter must needs conform for ever. By the rule which would

**taS«te to Shakespeare every line written in his first manner which

*rreired during the first years of his ]>oetic progress, it is hard to

**y what amount of bad verse or better, < tirrcnt during the rise and

L**« irign of their several influences, — for this kind of echo or of

;c>tr*otk, consciously or unconsciously rcpcrcussivc or reflective,

^•^Tpis with the very tirst audible sound of a man's voice in song,

first noticeable stroke of his hand in painting— it is

***ai to ay what amount <blc or intolerable work might not

' nayt.-. liable by scholiasts of the future to HyTon or to

**«&, 01 in Mr. Browning. A time by this rule

"ight come — but I am fain to think better of the Fates- -when by

°*pimon of d Is and collation of dismembered phrases

*t«enoiy of Mr. Tennyson would be weighted and degraded by

****cription of whole volumes of pilfered and diluted verse now

E*tat— if not yet submerged— under the name or the pseudonym

''oe present Viceroy— or Vice-empress is it ?— of India. But the

*fa«u truth is this: the voice of Shakespeare's adolescence had as

174

The Gentleman's Magazine.

usual an echo in it of other men's notes : I can remember the name
of but one poet whose voice from the beginning had none ; who
started with a It] ; own, though he may hare chose:

— "annex the wise it call." mmty is obsolete — to annex whole
phrases or whole verses at need, for the use or the ease of an idle
minute ; and this name of course is Marlowe's. So starting, Shake-
speare had yet (like all other and lesser poets bom) some perceptible
notes in his yet half boyish voice that were not borrowed; and these
were at once t.! uul re echoed by such fellow-pupils with

Shakespeare of the young Master of them all — such humble a
feebler disciples, or simpler sheep (shall we call them ?) of the great
"dead shepherd "—as the now indistinguishable UltiHX of Kin
■n/ 111

In the first scene of tlu' ho imitation of Marlowe rnosl

patent to the most purblind Geanan pedant, and perceptible through
his spectacles to the mosl impiidi lunce, P>

may also lie nn imitation of the Mill style of ShakcapWI

and the style may be mi as a copy of a copy

— a study after the mnnn. i .1 Marlowe* not at second hand, bin
third. In any r.i-t-, being obvio ■ llat and feeble to show a

touch of cither godlike hand, tin be set aside at onca to

make way for the second

The ■ cd, I'M- lot m cc

to the outbreak of rhyme. In other words, the energetic or
part is at best passable— fluent and decent commonplace : but wher
the style turns and und runs into men like

becomes perceptible to tl Shakespeare. Wi

ness these lines spoki ontcmplai

•auty, while fel ■ ■• against the nascv

of a base love: —

light to lnk.e light from n n

■ I >oo

lo (or tbec !

Dtripil tstmf. if Shake 1* nw v

little

orergrowtli of unprofitable tlowera— bnghs poiiv,

The Historital Play of King Edtvard ITT. 175

elaborate antithesis— this is as good of its kind as anything
en A et and Horace Smith. Indeed, it may remind us

of that parody on the • liluons, flower)- and frothy style of

Agatli it die opening <>f the Thtimepkoriazusir. cannot but

■ake the youngest and most ignorant reader laugh, though the oldest
and most learned baa never set eyes on a line of the original 1
which supplied the incarnate god of comic song with matter for aich
exquisite burlesque.

T<> tlie speech above cited the reply of the Countess is even
PKefuller, and closer to the same general model of fanciful elegiac

dnloMc —

ny presence, like thr April mn,
Flatter out earth, and suddenly be done :

happy do not make out outward wall
Thaa th-.i »ilt grace our Inward house uithaL
Oar hou»c. my liege, it like a country twain,

it, and manner* blunt and plain,
Prsmttb naught ; y! inly bcauliii- 'I
V. i'Ii I -mi 111 %■'. rtchw, and fan hidden | " ■
whrre the golden ore doth buried lie,
The ground, undecked nilh nature'* lapcttry.
Seems barren, * dry;

1 in- upper turi "i earth
I iidc, pe-rfiii 1
Delve lliete, and find thi. issue, and their pride.
To spring from ordnre and corruption'* side.
Hut, to nuke up my all too long compare.
ThCM ray..

doth hide
bed pride,
n let tlicc be,
Ernresl ibysclf to stay awhile trill

Kotoolyil: [-. grace of this charming la-i couplet, but the

■»*.'' -ength, the fluency and clarity ol tb< whole passage,

• to show that : ial tuggi rtion ol CapeJI, if (as I

iiui admit) unp.iTdonablc. The

***)■ oversight perceptible to any eye and painful to any eai not

•eilnl lature from all perception of pleasure or of

1 >m good verse or bad— itionofthe

■foe rhyme with but one poor couplet intervening — suggests rather

the oinvght of an unfledged poet than the obtuscness of a full-grown

portki -.:

..-■] |erfunu-<"; marking tbi in n

■ th the acTapulout honesty wlii:*! would stem to hate usually dUling'
au» Inm more daring aad more famous editor*.

1 76

The Gentleman V .'

But of ben ng o
imitators in ever)- generation may not as much said bj
tolerant or kind! Among the herd that swarm after t!><
heel or fawn upon the hand of Mr. Tennyson, more than one, mor<
than two or three, have COOK U close as his poor little viceregal 01
vice-imperial parasite to the very touch and action of the master'*
hand which feeds men unawares from his platter as they fawn ; at
close as this nameless and short-winded satellite to the gesture and
the stroke of Shakespeare's. For this also must be noted ; that the
resemblance here is but of stray words, of single lines, of separable
passages. The whole tone of the text, the whole build of the play,
the whole scheme of the poem, is far enough from any such resem-
blance. The structure, th< iporitton, is feeble, incongruous,

Icquate, effete. Hut this, of course, is imperceptible and imnu
ten mi and bellowing dunces who swallow the cast

theories of strangers to disgorge them ugain in English. Which
indeed is no great matter; but the student of another sort will
remark at a nt i giant e what a short-breathed runner, what a btoken-
winded athlete hi Hi" lt*J of tragic verse, is the indiscovcrahle author
of this play.

There is another point which the W( vnagogue

will by no man In- exacted to appreciate; for to app

requires aome knowledge ding of the poetry of

the Shakcspc ircan ly we now should ■ .an

Kliiabethan or Jacobean, for the sake of verbal convenience, if not
for the sake of literary it uch knowledge or under-

standing no sane man will expect to find in any such qui *en

in the broad coarse eon we find here . :lic

c sweet and til i tin- very cradle-song i Q it)

of our drama : so like Shukcspc say who knew nothing

of Shakespeare's fellow*, thai «,• . mnot choose I his

hand. Here as always first in the field -the gen
harvest-field of S):
passage from Gr

\ Plays— on which he obs<
^icare, thi

lion over the selfish,
love of man,

woman's love at the first hear
rcmen I

or suspicion of jcaloi
■—if I dare

The Historical Play of King Edward I If. 177

• very name ox whose lustiest word must

•n this ox soy rustier outweigh many a babbling and brawling

generation or Sham Slukespeareans - this lovely passage is indeed as

like the manner of Shakespeare as it can DC— to eyes ignorant of what

m fellows can do ; but it is not like the manner of the Shakespeare

. however, is beside the question. It K

the CfMftijr 0/ Enors—

■■'■■ur » L>U — Romro and Juliet It is so like that had

»e fallen upon it in any of these plays it would long since ha\e been

* household word in all men's mouths forswcetnetS, truth, simplicity,

perfect and instinetiv: y of touch. It is wry much liker the

ant Banner of Shakespeare thi King Edward J1I.

AndnoSham Si. thai I know of -but thismaj be

&u rather to superfluity of ignorani than i

«a the |«rt of that 1 gang— has]

tiis howling homage the authorship of Gnerii

Retotning to our text, we find in thi ccch of the King

wound up ycl coupkt which has

stnerj ii of Shakespeare's early notes— the catch \ii uords

oulet : on words which his tripping tongue in youth could

wtcr r

Casntoa, al'<cii n h me,

It »hitl atwml ••■ lice.

Ami *uh i courtly and courteous eu

|*usm are pass from the first to the second and most important

Any reader well versed in the text of Shakespeare, and ill versed
work of his early rivals and his later pupils, might well l>c
on a first reading of the speech with which this set 0]
iut with Capell that here at least was the unformed

ile indeed, ["he writer.

*f BUght say, has the nee of his eye, the very trii k Od

RW. the m Bui on getting 0 little more

*M»letige- { him always to have a sprinkling of poetic

ta«e and a dent to unlit

of " loud
«aa|lcr» and bullies in the school

Whin blind and Baked Ignorance
ivrmined,
On «lt ilunp aU day long—
NO. 1784. n

i78

The Gentleman's Magazine.

and mod iin'ii won all thing* connected or connective

i reader will tind the use of his new know-
ledge in th ion to which he will have attained that I
earl) his two early poems, the style of Shakespeare was
not for the most part distinctively his own. It was that of a crew, a
knot of young writers, among whom he found at once both leaders
and followers to be guided and to guide. A mere glance into tlic
ric literature of live time will suffice to show the dullest eye and
r how nearly innumerable were the Englishmen
of Eli ..ho could sing in the court!.
the pel i nan of them a i"c •

nuine of their kind : —

Faciei turn onnibas mat,
Kcc di»ws» Ijmcn :

and yel is the generic likeness between flower and flower of

the same lyrical gatd m but

here in Bird's, Morley's, I lowland's colic
of nunc with the words appended— in such jewelled volumes as
Ewgfo' eat Rh<>pi«,{y— their name is

II, their numbers arc numberless. You cannot call them >
tors, this man of that, or all of any ; they were all of one school, but it
was a school without a master or a head. so it vru

the earliest sect or gathering of dramatic v»i

lowe alone stood apart and above them all— the young Shakespeare
: the rest ; but among these we cann<-i -cues*,

how n nigh as comjieteni as he to continue the fluent

rhyme, to prolong tli f Greene and I'eelc, their fir

most famous lead'

No more docile or capable pupil could have been desired by any
master in any art than the author of DavU am/ lUtAtaiv has found in
the writer of this second act. He lus indeed surpassed his model,
if not in grai e and
nuily and co,u V

his manner, but c pared h

master's we may faith call it vigorous
. ol mere bug I

:t enough
gjai line oi b a *s about as i

r tragic oi dramal *e,ai

might be expected bo should

The I ! Play of King Edxoard III. 179

suddenly assume the buskin of tragedy. Let us suppose that

Moschus, for example, on the strength of having written a sweeter

cleg) than ever before was dinted over the untimely grave of a friend

and fellun-singcr, had said within himself— "Go to, I will be

•hoclcs "— can we imagine thai the tragic result would have been

other than b 11 deed for the credit of his gentle name, and

: indeed for all who might have envied the mild and modest

hyporris) had Em VL.-.rs induced then to

. ■. ikle with the froth ;ind slaver of their promiscuous and point-

less ad

As t: • generally known than it deserves to be —

■ "vn, though tea claim to

general notice is faint indeed compared with that of many a poem of

its age familiar only to special students in our own — I will trans, nk-

a few passages to show how far the writer could KW b Dl his best ;

leaving for other-, to find out how far short of that not inaccessible

is too generally content to fall and to remain.

The opening speech is jpoki Lodowick, ■ parasite of the

; who woukl appear, like Francois Villon under the roof of his

Fat Madge, to have succeeded in iL-euneihng the piofessioml duties

y, the generally discordant and discrepant offices ? — of

a pOe'- imp :

•at perceive his eye in hct eye liwt,
Hi* ear to diink her tract Mlgoc I utterance;
And changing passion, tike inconstant cloud's
'II; it, nckl >i|»'ii tin- earriaj-c of tl
liu mix, and die, In hb .(iMuibid cheek-..
l/\ when the L.lu^llc■J. even then ili.l ic :

A» if tier cheeks \ij some endUMted |«jwcr

!. 1 NBi n I ile,

• ■n iheir scarlet nrnann at . ;
her oriental ltd
Thai. I ' live things to dead.1

:..

. lwx» Iciidci BO I. 1 tune,
■ in the tarred presence of * I

' Tlic feeble aicbaic lovenion in this line u. one uaOAf MOM ... .11 sij;nj

luck die date ot" iku play to Ihl

•I , ". ll.C full Ulllucliie ..I In

■ml ciaMi.: . t as aa instance Of MUVrtal boa thai

a COiuie< woik ■ id"—

•Urce »ord> i m acnt »Wukr o|

-I.

X i

i So

The Gentleman s Magazine.

If he did blub, 'MM red immodest shame

To vail bia eyes omits, being a king .

II .he looked pale, twai silly •Oman's fear

To bear herself in presence of a Idl

If he looked pale, it was with guilty feu

To dote amiss, being a mighty king.

This is better than the in-ufferabU: style of Lacrine, which is in
great part made up of such rhymeless couplets, each tagged with an
empty verbal antithesis ; but taken as a sample of dramatic writing,
it is but just better than what is utterly intolerable. Dogberry has
defined it exactly ; it is Dot not to be endured.

The following speech of King Edward is in that 1" Hex style of
which the author's two chief models were not at their licit incapable
for 3. while under the influence and guidance (we may suppose) of
their friend Marlowe :

She it grown more fairer far since I came hither ;

1 ler voice more silver every word than other,

Her wit more fluent. What a strange discourse

Unfolded >hc of David and I

T-.'ivm tkui, quoin ca spake broad,

Wiih epithets and accents of the Scot ;

I'.ui somewhat better than the Scot could speak :

Ami Ihm, quoth she— and answered then herself;

For who could speak like her ? but she herself

Hrcathc>, from the wall an angel's note from heaven

Of sweet daAau a ■■■■ bit '•"

\\ Inn ,lir maid talk of peace, mctliinks her to: ,.

Commanded war to prison ; ' when of war,

' Here for the first lime we come upon a verse not unworthy of Mallow*
a verse in spirit av in , . ifling t he deep oceanic reverberation*

of his " niigh'y li"<- ." profound ttd |tta] nd -.i"i| > and single a< a nnte of the
music of the sea. hard il > r were

never to catch one passing lone of his Master's habitual accent, tt may be worth
Nfefll Mtiogj I".- Ben "f quicker if of shorter ear than a : ctptarcaa't,

that we tad hm 'he wine modulation i>f verse common cnoagl .-n, bat

new to i ' frrfeaW n -which we

passage of Marlowe's imperfect pi.-.;. . yoaag

Matter'* untimely death :

tWIiy »UrV tlnm in Bl
I-eay in mine arms : mine arras ore Opt
If Hi :<m me. and I'll turn from ll.

iBOOgh lht>u hail i

I lisv.- not
end

we aaay lot*, loot; in raia for the like i
crw-lrtt and feeblest work ol
MmvrJ lir.

n frtv.

A'"*.'

The Historical Play of King Edward III. i 8 1

It wakened Csesar from his Roman grave
To hear war beautified by her discourse.
Wisdom is foolishness, but in her tongue ;
Beauty a slander, but in her (air face ;
There is no summer but in her cheerful looks,
Nor frosty winter but in her disdain.
I cannot blame the Scots that did besiege her,
For she is all the treasure of our land ;
But call them cowards that they ran away,
Having so rich and fair a cause to stay.

ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE.
[To bt concluded.)

182

The Gentleman's Magazine.

METEOR DUST.

some
anse-

MR. RANYARD, one of the secretaries of the Royal Asl:
nomical Society, has recently called attention to the abundant
evidence which has now been obtained to show that mcte»ri<-
constantly falling upon the earth. Although the circumstance had
long l>een recognised by astronomers, first as a necessary conset;
of the known motions of meteors in space, and secondly from the
actual study of terrestrial matter ; yet it is desirable that the full
force of the c\idcnce should be generally understood, and that some
of the inferences dcduciblc from the fact that meteor dust thus
upon the earth should be clearly apprehended. Moreover,
interest has recently been drawn to meteoric investigations in con
quence of the recognition by the French Academy of Sciences of
the labours of Stanislas Mcunicr in this department of resc
I propose now to examine, in the first place, some of the eviden
collected by Mr. Ranyard. then to discuss the conclusions of Meuni
and lastly, to indicate the part which, as I think, the downfall
meteoric matter has performed in past ages of our earth's hist
Whether the views I advance be regarded as established by t
evidence adduced, or not, the evidence itself is full of interest ; ■
I shall have much more to say about the evidence than about
theoretical inferences which I deduce from it.

It must first be noted that, from observations made upon falling
irs, astronomers have been led to the conclusion that, in travelling
und the sun each year, the eardi encounters about 400,000,000
meteoric bodies of all order* of sixe, down to the least which would
be visible in a telescope of considerable power. As it follows from
this, that on the average more than a million meteors fall per day, and
as each of these bodies in falling becomes turned into vapour, which
must spread through a much largcT extent of space than had been
occupied by the meteor while solid, we can very well undcrstan
the particles formed from the subsequent condensation of the
valorised mcteore into a sort of fine meteoric rain, would be recog-
nisable in certain localities where the circumstances were favourable
to their remaining undisturbed during long periods of tunc. We do

Meteor Dust. 1,83

ite such good reason for expecting that any small, suitably
prtrored surface, exposed for hours or even for days or months to the
sir, *T>uld receive any recognisable amount of meteoric matter. I con-
fas, therefore, to feeling some little hesitation in accepting accounts of
meteoric particles gathered on sheets of glass coaled with glycerine,
or otherwise fitted to capture minute portions of solid matter. When
niL-tallic portions have been thus captured, I think their origin must
le otherwise explained than by attributing them to meteoric down-
&1L For a million meteors per day means about one meteor for two
id square miles of the earth's surface. In half a year one meteor
on the average would fall on eai h ■< nare mil,: of dial surface; and,
a the average weight of a meteor mu 1 I"- estimated rather by gE
'tort by ounces, I cannot think the meteor-hunter, with his square
fcot of glyccrincd glass, can have uracil chance, even if he waits
"any years, of catching partii lea, distributed at the rate of ten or
*dve grains per weight perhaps over a square mile. It luch an
thiervcr captured half-a-doxcn meteoric particles in ten or twelve
jars, the result, though surprising, might be accepted as reconcilable
•ith the known laws of meteoric downfall. Hut if, in a lew weeks, a
twmdctahlc number of me! attic particles, even though microscopic
to dimensions, were detected, the probability would be suggested
tma such particles were of terrestrial, not of interplanetary or inler-
*dlo, origin.

So much premised, let us consider the evidence gathered by Mi.
R«y*rd, noting that much of it is open to no objection on the score
01 say antecedent improbability such as I have just considered.

Intbc year 1862, Professor Andrews announced, in a paper read
«**e the lirhish Association, that he had discovered particles ot
"•twtiron in the basalt ol the Giant's Causeway. Having reduced
portions of the rock in a porcelain mortar to a tolerably fine powder,
■•petic portions were collected by passing a magnet several times
****& the powder. The particles adhering to the magnet were
"•placed under the microscope, and moistened with an m id solu-
"Wof sulphate of copper. On sonic of them coppa w.i 1 deposit) d
■ asunner which indicated the presence of native iron It seem.

■•probable that this iion was derived from meteors whi h fell on
** basalt when it was still in a plastic condition. It is, indeed,
fcScnlt to see how iron could otherwise have found its way to such a
Position.

The neat piece of evident belongs to the doubtful category
*we considered. Mr. T. I.. Phipson, Phil. IX. author of a very
*AI collection of facts about meteors, aerolites, and falling stars, sa\*

i84

The Gentleman s Magazine.

t work th.it he li:i 1 1 frequently exposed to the wind. i sheet of
cd with some transparcm nous substance, in order to

the particles of dust floating in the air. He says : " I Itave foui
th;it when a gLiss covered with pure glycerine is exposed to a si
wind late in November, it receives a certain number of blink anguit
particles ; some three or four may be thus coilec : i since of

couple of houiN. The experiment being made far in ihc count
away from tlic 'amutS1 Of a town, the black particles *how them

selves .ill the nine. They we, however, not toot 01 1 1 they

can be dissolved in strong rrjrdi produce yell

chloride of mm opon the glass plate." Me continue >ugh

have made this experiment at various periods of the year, and in
different countries, it is only in the winter months that the

pving with byrjrochlorit loridc of iron, have been

met with,

1 have already indicated strong .» priori reasons for question!
whether meteoric matter could be captured, even in many mon

ing small sheets of glyecrined glass to the air, and for doubtii
till more seriously the POM capturing such matter at the

rate of many particles per diem. Rcichcnbaeh's experiments were
rejected by the more cautious reasoncrs, and. as I think, very pro-
perly rejected, for such reasons as 1 have indicated above. Mr
cm to carry their own refutation along with them,
l i i >.; he has placed upon theni is concerned,
ndecd, ol : the black particles were not soot, for carbon

docs not dissolve in hydrochloric or murii and of course no traces

of iron could, under aXrj circu , be obtained from the

products of combustion. But there .ire t i believing thai

minute particles arc often present in Brooke. The mere act of
poking a fire must often remove minute fragments of iron fr
poker and from the bars of the grate, and such would

readily be carried upwards by the ascending current of warm
becoming coated with soot, wnii Id present precise!) ap|

ancc as Mr. Phipson describes. Morec here

much iron passes annually through the fui
goes various processes of mi it would -nodi

th< ;1»r.
Albeit, 1 think the concluding words of the abov
indicate a much closer relationship between black

iles and our winter fire expected to ! i

catcd by mcteon itmself m Icrs

appearance of the particles in ill ideoce

'III
Cll

Meleor Dust.

i*5

imcTplancU; And it is the case that a country in

northern latitudes must receive more meteoric visitants in the first

three months after the autumnal equinox than in the first three

months after the vernal equinox. But during the three winter months

preceding the vernal equinox the number of meteoric visitants is in

equal degree less than during the three summer months preceding

the autumnal equinox. In fact, from midsummer to midwinter

tbe northern hemisphere travels somewhat more forward than the

KWthern, while I'mm midwinter to midsummer the southern hemi

sphere tmels somewhat more forward than the northern; and. lor the

am* reason that in walking under rain the forward half of an urn-

breHa receives (on the average for different winds) the greater number

of raindrops, so, from midsummer to midwinter the northern hemi-

H*erc receives a somewhat greater number of meteoric visitants than

tie JWJthcm, and a somewhat smaller number from midwinter to

■drummer. But the winter months, as such, should show no supc-

"orirj in this respect over the summer months. We must look, then,

to wme other explanation of the observed fact, that more of the

M>ck particles were captured in winter than in summer — or rather

tai many were captured in winter, and none at all in summer. It

•{■pars to me that we find such an explanation in the circumstance

^"household fires are lighted in winter, and, for the most pari.

"anriathcd in summer.

next evidence considered liy Mr. [lanyard il of a more Mti •
*»orynaturc. Towards th< . nd ol 1871, Dr. Nordenskjold collected
*9'UBtity of apparently pari SMW . which fell in the neighbourhood

* Stockholm, d" ivy snowstorm. On melting a cubic metre

* this snow (a cubic metre is equal to about 354 cubic feet, or in
c°*Ment corresponds to about 1,760} pints), he found that it left a

*>ck residue, from which he was able to extract with a magnet

***tides which, when rubbed in an agate mortar, exhibited metallic

c**»racters, and, on being treated with acid, proved to be iron. In

*»s there was nothing more indicative of meteoric matter than in

"r- Prii|«son'i experiments ; for snow falling near a city like Stock-

^hn would be apt to carry down a number of those black particles

f'jrm part of the smoke of a city, and I'hipson's experiments

In to prove that minute particles of iron may be present in such

But when, in 1872, Dr. Nordcnskjokl obtained metallic

in snow from the ice of the Rantajcrwi, a spot separated by

; forest from the nearest houses at Evoia, in Finland, the cvi-

"fcnee appears a great deal more satisfactory. Albeit it cannot be

*guded as in itself decisive ; and Dr. Nordenskjold's account of the

i86

The Gentleman's Magazine.

nature of the residue out of which metallic matter was obtained,
certainly suggests a smoky rather than a cosmical origin. When wow
obtained in the region named was melted, it " yielded a soot-like
residue, which under the microscope was found to consist c>f white ■<:
yellowish. white granules, with black carbonaceous substance, from
which the magnet removed black grains, which, when rublx
mortar, were seen to be iron."

The examination of snow collected in Arctic regions seems a bi
more satisfactory method of seeking for evidence of meteoric dust
than the study of snow which has fallen anywhere near places
inhabited by man. During the Arctic Expedition of 187a, an
Unity w;u afforded for such researches. On August 8, 1S71, the
snow covering the drift ice in latitude 8oc north and longitude ij'
1 1st, was observed to be thickly covered with small black particles,
while in places these penetrated to a depth of some inches the
granular mass of ice into which the underlying snow had bcei
vetted. Among these black particles magnetic matter was found to
Imndant, and that this matter was iron was proved by itspowi
of reducing copper sulphate (in the same way, dial is, .is in the
experiments made by Dr. Andrews), Again, on September ;, rfl
latitude 80" north and longitude 15' east, the ice field «-i> found
.•■..red with 1 bed of freshly fallen now 50 millimetres (abort •
inches) thick, then a more compact bed abuut 8 millimetre* (or
say one-third of an inch) in thickness, and below this a layer J»
millimetres (say li inch) thick of snow converted into a crystalline
granular mass. The latter was full of black granuli come

grey when dried, and exhibited the magnetic and chemical characters
already referred to. They amounted to from one-tenth of a milli-
gramme to a milligramme in a cubic metre of snow, a milligramme
being equal t» about 165th of a grain. As the falling snow
sweep through a large region of air, and so have a chance of <
a considerable: number of meteoric particles, the presence of
65th to a (J5oth of a grain of meteoric matter in 35 cubic feet of «

mis to accord fairly with what we might expect from the
relative paucity and minuteness of the earth's meteoric
Moreover, the nature <>f the metallic matter fuund in these,
snows accords far better with the theory ol it:, meteoric origin
that of the metallic matter found in the black |iartides of Ph
and some of Rcichcnbach's experiment It is nearly certain I
effectual measures were taken for capturing w natter, I

other metals than iron would be detected. Now, the matt.
in Arctic regions contained such cAhci metals. We are told that 1

whj
vhl

scri

Afttor Dust. 187

analysis of the grey particle* 1 <r. Nordenskjdld to establish

bait, and probably nickel.

y Mr. Ranyard does not appear to me

to be altogether so satisfactory. During the yean 1874, 1875, and

ibed in the Compttt Rtndus ai series of papers

on his examination of atmospheric du-.t. He showed that "in the

dust deposited upon the towers of the Cathedral of Notre I tame, U

i in the solid matter deposited from rain-water, there were

I c particles containing iron, nickel, and cobalt. On examining

these particles under tin- microscope he found that they were very

which he was able to detach by
D from the surface of meteorites, and be concludes rh.it they
are the sotidificd metallic rain detached from meteoric masses during
through the atfflosi here." The presence of nickel
and cobalt favours the belief that the meUlfic matta detected
by M a really was meteoric matter, .is, of course, docs the

1 e of the particles t 1 can be detached from the

of meteorites by friction. Still, the towers of Notre Dame
are n* lace where we should look for meteoric

1 absolutely free fi latum with the products of com-

bustion and other processes taki:. in and around human

'Hie evidence next to be examined is curious, and withal some-
what i Dr. Walter Flight published in the Genlo-it.il
'irch and April, 1875, a paper on " Meteoric Dust,"
since been reprinted in the Antic Manual. After dc
.. Dr. Nordcnskjold's observations, Dr. Flight remarks that the
dust from the Polar ice north of Spitzbergcn bears a great resemblance
to a substance to which Dr. Nordcnskjold has given the name of rrjwv-
■'om two Greek words signifying ice and dust). This substance
"was found," says Dr. Flight, "in Greenland, in 1870, very evenly
ited, in not inconsiderable quantity, in vhorc ice, as well as on
ice th oast, and at a height of 700 metres" (about
760 yards) he dosl of both localities has probably
a coon nil fly met with in the holes of
il grey powder at the bottom of the water
filling the holes. Considerable quantities of this subs;ancc arc often
carried down by streams which traverse die glacier in all directions.
The >■ feed these streams lie towards the east, on a
slowly-rising undulating plateau, on the surface of which not the
■ne or larger rock masses was to be observed.
The actual | material, in open hollows on the wnfote

1 88

The Gentleman's Magazine.

of the glacier, precluded the possibility of its having been derived
from the ground beneath."

Dr. Flight then goes on to consider the probable origin of cryo-
conitc. 1 lc remarks that the subject is " highly enigmatical. That
cryoconitc is not a product of the weathering of the gneiss of the coast
is shown by its inferior hardness, indicating the absence of granite
by the large proportion of soda, and by the fact of mica not being
present That it is not dust derived from the basalt area of Green-
land is indicated by the subordinate position which the oxide of iron
occupies among the constituents, as well as by the large proportion
of silicic acid. We have then to fall bade on the assumption that it

is cither of volcanic or of cosrnical origin The trvoconite,

whencesocver it comes, contains one constituent <>f cosmical i
Dr. Nordcnskjold extracted, by means of the magnet, from i
quantity of material sufficient particles to determine their metallic
nature and composition. These grains separate i upper from I
tion of the sulphate, and exhibit conclusive indications "I tin ■ presence
of cobalt (not only before the blowpipe, but with the solution of
potassium-nitrite), of copper, and of nickel — though in the Litter <
with a smaller degree of certainty,1 — through the reactions <>f
metal being of a less delicate character." It is clear from this i
scription that cryoconitc is to all intents and purposes identical i
the matter obtained by Dr. Nordcnskjold from the melting of |
snows. The evidence, however, is in this case remarkable, I
this cryoconitc or ice dust is found " very evenly distributed in
inconsiderable quantities." Probably, however, the difficulty

Dg will disappear if we consider that large quantities of i
which falls in the Arctic regions is subsequently melted on
without melting ; and thus a layer of one inch of compressed ice ■
represent the downfall of as nun h snow as — even when conve
would form a laytr several feet, perhaps several yards, in thii
if none of it underwent evaporation. Thus we can understand j
the presence even of a considerable proportion of this
matter in the compressed Arctic snows may be reconcilable with
actual downfall of relatively very minute quantities of such
very large quantities of snow. For of course the evaporation
snow would not cause the removal of a single particle of the i

' Science know* of no degree* of certainty, though probability m*y I
more and more nearly to certainty. It It at well t" lie accurate even in <
as the abore, where no error it likely to arise ; for a habit of speaking i
U soon acquired, ami, in cases where errors may very readily arise, often
tcrioialf mischievous.

Mtteor Dust.

189

ot meteoric matter. It would be a research of considerable interest,
I may remark, to inquire in what degree the Polar snows evaporate
m compared with thwc portion! which come to form put of glacial
manes. Although very- probably it might not be found possible to
. even for any given region, far less for regions
of great extent and varying nature, yet general evidence might be
obtained which, combined with the result is, such as

ordenskjold has already applied to large quantities of the com-
pressed snow, might throw much clearer light than we now possess
of meteoric matter actually falling year by year upon
the earth.

Turn we no* Upine snows to the depths of the great

ocean. Here, as it should seem, \ve may expect to find met
matter, for not one particle of metallic matter which has once reached
the surface of the mid-ocean can fail to sink and become part of the
matter deposited at the sea-bottom. Hire also, at least in regions
tar removed from the shores or from the ordinary track i 1. m
vessels, we should expect to find small trace of admixture with
metallic matter from terrestrial sources.

In 1876, Mr. John Murray gave an interesting account of his ex-
amination of the deposits found at the bottom of the oceans and seas
visited by the Government ship Challtngo. The full account will be
found in the ninth volume of the " Proceedings of the Royal Society
of Edinburgh." The following points arc all that we need consider
here Mr. Murray found, in many of the deep-sea clays, a nun
of magnet s, "some of which he extracted by means of a

magnet carefully covered with paper. On placing them under an
scope, and moistening with the acid solutions of sulphate of topper, he
nd tlut OOppei w js deposited on some of the particles.'* From this
rcumsance that the particles bore a strong resemblance
ltd on the "mammtUated outer surface of the Cape
ictcon that the particles had a cosmical

a Me loggt i; reason why meteoric [.articles are found in

tbundance in , is that at the bottom of the

ocean, far from land, nidi particles would no! 1"- wished away or so
rapidly covered up as in the case of deposits found near to continents.
They would consequently appear to form a larger proportion of de-
posited matter. He also suggests that the nickel present in meteoric

n would greatly retard the oxidation of such ((articles, " I'roi
Alexander Hcrschel has, I understand," adds Mr. Ranyard, " examined
under the microscope some of the- particle s extracted by Mr. Murray,

pinion that they are of probably cosmic

190

T/u Gentleman's Magazine.

Here again we seem to recognise a means of determining the
actual rate of meteoric ingathering at the present time. For it should
be possible to determine the rate at which the sea-bottom is rising in
particular regions. This done, the quantity of cosmical matter found
in a given thickness or quantity of a deposit in one of these region*
would indicate very accurately the quantity which had (alien in »
given time. And tint* we should Ik; able to infer the rate at which
ili>-- whole earth is growing on account of meteoric indraught Tbc
mean of the quantities ionnd to fill year by year on each, per square
yard or per square mile, in several well-examined regions, could
be fairly taken as the mean annual deposit per each square yard or
square mile, as the case might be, of the whole surface of the earth.
We should thus be able to infer, approximately, the actual
the earth in pounds or tons during a year or a century.

Next let us pass from the deep seas to the summits of lol
tains, or, better, to the snows collected in large mountain passes.

In September 1876, Mons. E. Yung published a paper
'• Etude sur les Poussitrcs cosmiqucs." In this he give
showing iron particles which he had found in snow that had
at the Hospice of St. Bernard. During the years 1X75 and |

M. Tung examined mow which had fallen on othet mountain*

Switzerland. In every case he found (as Reichenbach had
done) a number of iron particles. He also extracted with a majn
minute globules of iron from ilust collected on the towers of chi
This agrees well with the results of M. Tissandicr's open:
Ranyard remarks that the iron particles figured on M. Yung's
arc mostly spherical or pear-shaped, with projecting points and ih
of metaL

Mr. Ranyard's own observations have next to be con
During his passage across the Atlantic, in returning from the ex;
tion for observing the eclipse of July iS7S,he repeated in a modified
form Mr. Phipson's experiments. " When at a distance of about i.oca
miles from the American coast," he says, "I exposed some glas^
covered with glycerine to the wind. They were placed upon a wind-
vane, behind a tiu funnel which directed a current of air upon the
centre of the plate. The wind vane was mounted near the pro«o(
the vessel, ami duriiu.; ilu tunc of the exposure the wind was blowing
nearly at right angles to the course of the vessel." It is clear, there-
fore, that whatever air fell upon the tin funnel, and through the
upon the glycerincd plate, had come across the open sea, not
the region over or near the smoke-stack (to use a convenient Ann

si. 191

Mr. Ranyard exposed four plates, for periods of 30 hours, 24
hours, 18 hours, and 20 hours n rpcctively, "Immediately after
the exposure the plates iced," he says. ' in a box, such

as is ordinarily used by photographers for carrying negatives, and
the whole was wrapped in paper so as carefully to exclude dust till
the plates could be brought to England for examination.'' When
the box was opened the plates were examined under the microscope,
were submitted to the action of dilute hydrochloric at Ed,
(towards to thai of sulphocyanide nun, a process which

would indicate tbepresenceof iron partii 1. . by a bright n d -\ tin. The

.1 in this 1 1* follows:—

11 l.ich was exposed iS hours, a rather Urge pal

ticle containni.r iron wi (bund. It wi-. <-i a dark brown colour, and
was somewhat elongate:!, tapering slightly towards one end, but was
no* angular like the parti by Mr, Phfpsan, It was clearly

to the naked eye, and I estimated it to be between the one
dtli and Ihc one one-hundred and-fiftleth ol an inch in its
loogc There were other tra ton upon the plates,

but only in vet- always in connection with minute

hou> and nils which had lodged in the glycerin.

i ear far more satisfactory than any hitherto ob-
tained from the exposure of glyecrined plates to currents of air. For,
first, the method used was not open to the objections existing in the

ndPhipson,and, in the second place, the

minute amount of metallic matter captured accords far better with

a priori probabilities than the large " finds" which have been made by

obocrv satisfactory methods. However, Mr. Ranyard

him** ■ ■, any means satisfied, — a remarkably good symptom

in an not fed satisfied," he says, " with the

il although the plates were carefully cleaned, and the

-.Itowed no traces of iron, the box in win. h

Ml in I'rof. Henry Draper's

laboratory utcd to make sure that it was Dei

before making use of it. On another oe.
I would recommend that the box in which the plates are to bi
i should be carefully 1 rid coated on the inside with

rine. A box without a lock ind with brass hinges should be
nude use of. It tnigh le to vary the expi

cxpuung a magnet to the wind, with pol rith tin-foil. On

nil the magnetic panicles" (always supposing
OU tl be allowed to fall ate covered

192

T/te Gentleman's Magazine.

From the combined results of all these different methods of
observation we may safely infer that meteoric dust, in the form of
minute particles of metallic matter, is at all times present in 00!
atmosphere, though the total amount, even for the whole earth, must
be at any moment exceedingly small, while the quantity falling on I
square yard, or even a square mile, of the earth's surface in
even in a whole year, must be so minute as to be pract;
preciable.

Mr. k;uiy.ml. indeed, in discussing the results of the
researches, is led to adopt some conclusions, or rather to
favourably of tone Inferences, which would seem to imply that the
downfall of meteoric dust upon our atmosphere plays a much more
important put th.in can justly, I conceive, be attributed 10 it- "'IV
above observations," he says, "seem to point to a conclusion which has,
I believe, been advocated for some time pa U by Mr. Proctor, namely,
that meteoric matter is continually falling in quantities which, in m
lapse of ages, must accumulate so as materially to contribute lots*
matter of the earth's crust. There can belittle doubt that in nV
course of a year millions of meteors enter the earth's atmwpht n
few of the larger masses reach the earth's surface, but by far the RWtfrr
number appear to be consumed in the higher atmosphere. The aha**1
observations show that minute particles of iron frequently reach lW
earth's surface without having undergone any change such a? way •<
expected to result from their passage through the air in an iturasue-
H cut state." To this he adds in a note the remark that iron partidc*
probably form only a very null pad of the meteoric, dust continual!)'
falling — for, of the larger masses whic h have been seen to fall, it hast**0
estimated that not one in fifty is iron. " Dr. Might informs me," hi
'• that in the British Museum thcTc arc joj stony meteorites, all °'
which have been seen to fall, and there are only four iron meteor***
which have been seen to fall. Stony meteorites consist for the »o*
part of olivine, augitc, hornblende, felspar, and other minerals mo*
of which are common in volcanic and mctamotphic rocks, *»•'
cannot be distinguished as having a meteoric origin unless they*
found in masses. It is worthy of remark that all the elements
arc common in meteorites are also common in the stratified rocks, j

It has been for researches into the matters touched
words just quoted that Mr. Stanislas Meuniei haa recently
the Ijilande Medal at the liands of the Paris Academy of Scie
In awarding to him this recognition of his laborious a)
researches, the Ac. expressed approval of the startling

in my opinion utterly inadmissible, theory which he has

Meteor Dust.

>93

the results of his researches. This theory is that meteors form part
of what was once a planet, with geological Strata like thai of our own
"and that later it was decomposed EstO separate fragments,
under the action of causes difficult to define exactly " (these are the
tnett words of the whole passage), " but which we have more I

Been in operation in the heavens themselves " (and these are
the most incorrect). Nothing wilder than this theory has been
idnaccd by a student of science since Sir \V. Thomson enunciated
the amazing doctrine that life itself had been brought to the earth
•aid the fragments of a world once peopled by living creati

ng more readily disproved has ever been asserted as a result of
ictnil observation than the explanation put by Mcunier upon the
»<alled " new stars" (fee these are the objects which he regards as
iAastnting his t '-.-.. he decomposition of worlds), since Prof

Jvnnced as practically certain the sea-bird theory of CO)

the careful study of any one comet ever observed for

roort astronomers would have shown to be

ire can be nothing more certain than that the meteor

'JKena encountered by the earth could never have fanned put of

» JitiRlc large glol>e, even if such globes could conceivably be

K*8tred into fragments. Not even a million exploded glob* i could

lot for the arruuing diversity observed among the meteoric

tpteaa encountered by the earth. Foi although she docs not

mtour.tcr a million v.ich systems, or possibly even a thousand, yet

fhai the known fact of her encountering hundreds of such systems

omes to all intents and purposes certain thai many millions,

•Hularly diverse in arrangement, position, motion, and so forth,

in the solar domain. And again, among all the theories

e hitherto been advanced in explanation of the appearance

a- stars (or rather the sudden increase of certain stars in

iplendour;. utterly incrcd:i admissible is that which

would regard these phenomena as due to the sudden decomposition

like the earth, of true geological epoch

Returning to Mr. Ranyard's inferences from the recognition of

meteoric dust, 1 must remark that the theory he has attributed to me

one that I have advocated, in the form at lea h he

-, it. I have no doubt that the earth has in remote past ages

ed no small portion of her present mass from the interplanetary

inly have never maintained that the meteoric

matter now con: lling must, in the lapse of agi

to contribute to the matter of the i
crutt. On Ok- contrary, [I u that this rannot pea

mct<
pre*

tree:

J 94

The Gentleman $ Magazine.

i«mi. I do not believe thai in the lapse of ages, usine.
pp i iv many thousands of years, the hundredth part of

ii, in this way to the earth's diameter. I do not

•ik that in ;i thousand millions of yean the earth's diameter can be
increased a tingle toot in tli h an increase

would hardly be properly described as a material contribution to the
thickness of the earth's crust.) For as I have already mentioned,
taking the highest estimate of die number of meteors of all orders
which fall » Ctrl] upon the earth — or rather which enter her atmo-
sphere— and die greatest average weight which can he attributed to
each, it is certain that not more than one ounce of matter is added
to each square mile of the earth's surface per annum. Now, in *
square mile there are (nearly enough) about 1,500,000 square yards.
So 1 if die supply of n owed no signs of

the next not more than a

pound's might of natter would l>e added to eai t yard of die

earth's M -he course tl r-t millions of years, or rouj.:

• it three stones' weight to each square yard in the course of a
thousand millions of years. Now, this amount of matter spread 0
a square yard would form a layer of very small thickness even if die
greater part of the matter were no denser than pumice stone. If of
the density of water, 431b. of such matter would have a volume
j to that enclosed within a four-gallon vessel. Or the matter
nay be put t' :btc foot of water weighs as nearly as pos* 1

1,000 ot, and as there are oorj . it follow-

vessel of water eight inches deep by one square foot in horizontal
cross-section would be as nearly as possible equal in weight to the
maximum quantity of meteoric matter tailing on each square
the earth's surface in a thousand millions of years. are

nine square feet in a square yard Hence it follows that the tout
increment of meteoric matter, in a thousand millions of yea
the average of the density of water, would add but one inch 1
mm to the crust of* the earth, or would increase the ear
(supposed unchanged 60m other causes) by two inches.

refore some of the effects whk nyard goes DO to

ate to meteoric downfall must cither be rejected as
or must be regarded as belonging to exceedingly remote eras of the
tarn's history, when free meteoric matter existed in much greater
pmlwaon. and was therefore captured much root* frrelv than

-anil i- a*Ti-e «hcs he

there qui be httk doubt that up to s great hoc: anlr,

Meteor Dust.

>95

the air is impregnated with dust \ iiwing meteoric dust.
The explanation which he is thus led to give of the dark blue colour
cf the sky seen from the highest mountains, most certainly must be
rejected. It is true that this colour indicates, as Professor Tynd.ill
las shown, "the presence of particles small compared with the v.
log!) of light." Hut the suggestion that " the blue colour may be
eased by dust derived from the dc"bris of meteors, the mallei
pricks of which may possibly occupy months or even year* in
Uag to the earth's surface," is altogether inconsistent with the
kajwn astronomical facts respecting meteors. If this really were the
sac explanation of the daik blue colour of the sky, then even- night
Be whole sky would be ablaze wit li falling stars ; for nothing short
•* the constant arrival of meteoric matter as it arrives during toe
pat displays of shooting Stan would produce the abundant meteoric
*BJ in the upper air whidi Mr. Kanyard's suggested explanation
.:. ret

Again, he makes the following remarks, which, by the way, are
•til worth careful study, even though we may feel compelled (as I
totally feel compelled) to reject the conclusion to which they con-
fct Mr. Ranyard : "Much evidence has been collected by I'm-
fcsor Von Niessl and others which tends to show that many of the
meteoric masses enter the earth's atmosphere with velocities in-
that they are moving in hyperbolic orbits and consequently
<k sot belong to the solar system. It seems, therefore, probable that
t all events a certain proportion of the meteoric dust is derived
too sources outside the solar system." So far all is just; it i- m
•ha follows that Mr. Ranyard fails, I think, to take due account of
4e rektivc minuteness of the quantity of meteoric matter which can
*teoe have fallen on the earrji during the more recent geological eras.
'He earth and planets, as they arc carried along with the sun in his
*»tioo through space, would thus receive a larger proportion o!
•atohc matter on their northern than on their southern hemi-
^ktftt; and I would suggest, as a theory worthy of consulera-
*«. that this may account for the preponderating mass of the
''WBents in the northern hemisphere of the earth, and for the-
*fch has so frequently been pointed out by physical geograpl
*« tee great terrestrial peninsulas all taper towards the southern

"Tie following fuel* with regard to the moon and tin- planet Mar* may

,'apMr. Ranyard. "have some connection with the unequal addition of

nutter in ihnr northern and wuithem hemispheres. On tin- moon the

actios haw been decidedly mow intense in the

196 The Getiilemaris Magazine.

It should be noticed, in the first place, that the excess of land in
the northern hemisphere would tend to prove rather that 'the greater
amount of solid matter was in the southern than that it was i
northern hemisphere. For the water has been drawn by the Btti
influence of the earth's solid matter as a whole to the southern hemi-
sphere ; and tin's circumstance can scarcely be otherwise cxpl
than by ntpposing thai there is in the southern half of the earth'
globe a preponderance of attracting matter. Apart, however, from
is quite certain that the excess of matter in the northern
hemisphere could not be explained as Mr. Ranyard suggc
excess amounts to an average difference of at '.cast 400 feet in level ;
and it is quite certain that, while at the present rate of meteoric down-
pour, more than ten thousand millions of years would be required to
produce a layer 400 feet thick, and a hundred tiroes that period to
produce an excess of thickness of that amount in the northern as
compared with the southern hemisphere. It cannot be doubted that
the time to which the present conformation of the lands and seas
belongs cannot amount to five millions of years, or, indeed, to any-
ihftt duration. We have the clearest possible evidence
that large parts of even the higher lands in the northern hemisphere
were under water at a much less remote epoch.

Again, tl ness of the meteoric indraught, as compared

of the earth's atmosphere, renders inadrm

the ingenious theory- advanced by Mr. Ranyard to account for

changes in the climate of the The experiments of Professor

AfthtU show that when meteoric masses

northarn hcrncipbcrc. sad it wiH abo he noticed thai the great enter range* ran
1 .wih and math. Oo the planet Mm- 1( «e adopt the deGneation of the
»ea» tad continent* given by Proctor « his nap, which «»>■ chiefly nude ftn
the drawing* of the pi. '>iere i\ a* 00 oar earth, a great: 1

-can nuttcc in the southern than la the pmlhein heraUpbere. On
>* land urtace Li drodnUy greater than the ocean aarnce, *o that the
•r*» »|<e>oif redweod to mere laVrea and narrow mlao." (This, by the aqtj

.-. ahrthrr any nap b* contaiered, nt the aanrr recent map* •
■ail SehiapaieUi hare bated em the nhimrlan of Man maoV

ivwnMt vfpaaltion of 1877. Tu my run map t have ar-|
•n(4» hm raVcUee rott, far tuning drawn h aa an -
«a wMrtt aaoal apnea, cat the gtoba ate ny—aj by rpnvl apatn in the map.
I nave cat oa< tha p*ttt rrpmaWMg land tram taw rr,«r»mtinc. water, and,
watghtag tbnw |v». of paper, haw boast that thtaw Wl.-ngw . . weigh,

•at eoaatrj the «aaar aa then* Wh-mglraj to the tar

«.U ha aoMml that ihwnr < tale* and aaim-
aajtaji ta the mart in anrntaimua, ml that what haa beer.
dkt •( ri—hauw. haa «. aandmi Im* dandaOI.
Martial e- . .

MeUor Dust

197

earn

few 1
lime

seal

top*

cha
atm
Rtti

are healed, considerable amounts of occluded gas arc given off. We
shall therefore, in considering the results which must follow hum the
continuous fall of meteoric matter, have to take into account the
at gaseous matter is probably l>cing continually added to the
Atmosph' n-. it the amount of gaseous matter taken fiom the air
and stored up in a solid form by the agency of plants and annuls,
and by distances, docs not counterbalance the

amount continually added to the ■ re from meteors, together

with the supph. vents anil from other soi

from which the atmosphere may be recruited, it wiO b Ql tli.n

the total amount of the atmosphere must cither 1
decreasing. And the point to which 1 wish to draw attention is that
such increase or decrease would in time serve to account for great
changes of temperature at the earth's surface. If we suppose the
earth to pass through a region of space where- then ore comparatively
few meteors, the height of the atmosphere would in the course of
1 greatly decreased, and we should temperature at the

l>onding to the present temperature of our mountain
tops. In the language of geologists, a glacial epoch would be the
1 hand, the earth passed through a region of
•pace rich in meteors, containing occluded carbonic acid fu, the
atmosphere would increase in depth, and a period like the cu>
period might be the result, in which a temi-tropicAl
vegetation might again flourish on the coast of Greenland."

ie true that, in time, such changes as are at present
ing 1 >r the other of the two opposite causes of

nge were to operate, produce an atmosphere much rarer, n
r than the present atmo.-ajlitn ol

n that the intervals of tun. hte so-

called glacial epochs from epochs when rich vegetation of a

ad existed in Arctic regions, were not nearly long enough
;>rcciablc changes of :n. been pro-

e manner suggested by Mr. (lanyard The total v..
1 eonc matter added in ten million years to the earth, at the
ircwnt rate of indraught, would not add one-tenth of 1 the

of the mercurial coi romctcr, even 0

tion that die whole of the us added became not

en it reached our air, but remained gase<; ards,

in such sort that, throughout the whole of those millions of years, no
meteoric dust was debited— for meteor
dentation of meteoric vaiwur. There are reasons for believing

of a semi-tropical vegetation in Arctic a.ud \v\Ut\k.

Gentleman's Magazine.

regions was due to the greater density of the air in remote tiroes, and
difference in its constitution ; but it is quite certain that no
such difference can be ascribed to meteoric downfall within the
interval over which geological surrey extends. For it must be
'•■ibcrcd that the passage of our solar system through a region rich
in meteoric matter could not possibly produce an excess of meteoric
downfall for a period of moderate duration, foil: .cntly

by a prolonged period of relative meteoric scarcity n-tcors

gathered during such a passage would be gathered by the solar
system as a whole, and would not get distributed among the several
members of that system for many millions of years. Mad there
lxen such downfall during the carboniferous era. the earth would
not have exhausted in the interval which has elapsed since (the
maximum interval, that is, which geology will allow us to recognise)
a tithe of that meteoric wealth. We can safely conclude from the
minute amount of meteoric indraught now, that there has been no
such meteoric wealth as this theory supposes, during a period at
least a hundred times as long as that which separates the carboni-
ferous era from the present v.-

But although some of the remits which have been supposed to
from the downfall of meteoric matter most thus be
missed as the minutest quan:

known to be felling year by year, there remain many interesting
lonccs from the recognised laws of meteoric distribution. The
-. indeed, one which, so far from being as yet exhausted, seems
scarcely tu have be. '.tacked Nor can we won.

we remember how short a rime has el
and fchootmg stars have had their troc position as members of
solar system assigned to them. Recognising, as we now

most, the tact that day by day, and rear by year, our earth gathers
leoric fragments, remembering that the meteors thus captured
ch year are only those which remain after thousands
of million* of yean, dariaj which the proem has continued, we
cannot but perceive tha: past meteors mat erved

mo« uuporum purposes in the economy, not merely of our earth,
but o> x system Xor b it wholly imposs&le thai a* men

more and more
.- number*, and the constitution of the meteor*.

bk to infce. with a chanson and mines* a-
nature of the system of ^^j. toadies which
■ V walar ••stem was yocog.

■aatAJus a. mocroE.

The
eetna
erat

EDCfl

*tual
now

199

THE LONDON SCHOOL BOARD
. IND ITS WORK.

iblc within the limits Of On Article to touch on more
1 than one or two points in connection with the work of the
London School Board.

I have not therefore in this paper discussed the question of exp
or attempted to make any comparison of the cost of the volun t.iry
and School Board system. The real expenditure of the London
School Board will of course be governed by the answers that arc
given by the ratepayers to the following among oilier questions: —
Are all the poor children in London to be educated? Is it good p
to ert< led with ill the comforts and con-

vtnkm the majority of the B boob now contain?

Id they be orn.imcnt.il, or should they be of thi
id mow economical*. in? Are the I id too highly,

I — and ti reason why the cost of teaching in

mdon Board Schools is proportionately so great — is it goo<l potii y
Dumber of teachers to the same number of children
in most v schools? Arc the children to be taught the

lone, or arc they to receive a higher education ?

is a matter of revenue, but equally involves
a policy. Shall h or low? This question I have

voured to answer, while at the same time I have discussed
hool provision, the bye-laws, managers, etc. There arc many
ther minor but interesting features of the work which lack of space
my examining; among which I may mention Industrial
ools, " capricious migration of children from school to school,"
education of blind, deaf, and dumb, cooker),

*ch<

In work of the London School Board wc are too

1870, under the vol item, London

long way I lost of the other large towns in its ei

Uld that the schools which it possessed were scattered
eery irregularly over its surface, and were often most abundant where

.1 needed.

JOO

The Gentleman's Magazine.

This must not be taken as a reproach against the voluntary
i. it London from an educational point of view is peculiarly
.■.itu.n. (!. Not only is the extent of area enormous, and the popula-
tion vast — luting more numerous than that of Scotland — but its
awkward distribution militates against a thorough and impartial divi-
sion of any educational fund provided by voluntary means. For instead
of the dwellings of the rich and poor being indiscriminately mixed
together, or within reasonable distance of one another, as in smaller
towns, the rich are congregated in certain regions with only a small
Sprinkling of poor among them, while the latter are crowded in their
own densely populated districts, with perhaps not a single weali
in in living in their midst. And in many cases between the t
quarters is .1 great barrier fixed, in the shape Of warehouses,
and Other buildings used only during the day.

W lien, therefore, the School Board came into existence, some
trictS and divisions were found to be sufficiently and even excess
provided with schools, while others required to be studded with
buildings. For instance in the rich division of Westminster it has so
been only necessary to build two small Hoard schools, while in the
and more populous division of the Tower Hamlets, the Hoard ha1
already been forced to provide 30,000 school places, and have
thousands more, building or in contemplation. Then, too, t".
populated and ever-increasing suburbs, were almost entirely lad
in scln ml accommodation, and many outlying schools had to be
!>v tin Hoard, some of which are as much as seven or nine mi
bom Hyde Park Corner.

The poorer districts would have been totally unable to bear
whole cost Of establishing t] OJ schools in their own qu

and so the incidence of the burden of the education rate was equal]
om the whole of the Metropolis. Thus the City- with 01
small transferred Board school in its midst — will pay this year sevi
thousand pounds more in education rates than Lambeth, which
40,030 children in Board schools.

original ground on which was based the first calculation
the educational needs of London was the Census of 1871 ; that n
bcring of the people showed that, out of a population of c
over 3,000,000, them were some 575,000 children 1
mtntnry school class between the ages of 3 and 13. All
however, did not require school accommodation, and largi
had to be made for those who were " too young to go to sch
"in the country,* "sick," "necessarily at work," etc; leaving
«t /mated residue of 452,000 children needing accommodation.

The London School Board and its Work. 201

Toe school places supposed to lie at that time actually available
*crc calculated at 313,000. In addition, promises to build or en-
luge schools were freely made by the different voluntary agencies;
ad it was estimated that the total accommodation, existing or pro-
jected, exclusive of Board schools, would provide lor at least 350,000
chidrcn; and it was therefore assumed that if the School Board were
pjdmlly to add rather over 100,000 places, London would be
■ffiied with a sufficient number of elementary schools. On these
ponds it was confidently asserted that the education rate would not
be aore than twopence or threepence in the pound ; and there is
Me doubt that if these calculations of numbers and provision had
W been afterwards completely falsified, the rate need never have
weeded threepence.

Bst unfortunately for the pockets of the ratepayers — though
pembly not for the cause of education— many disturbing elements
"Jiely dispelled this sanguine view of the future, and the Board,
»*ead of 100,000, have already 200,000 children on their hands,
ad trill have many thousands more to accommodate with schools.
He net is, that miscalculations were made in the original estimate of
1* provision existing in the voluntary, private-adventure, and official
•diceb; for instance, their accommodation was calculated on the
•^Wquare-feet basis, while, in London at least, nine square feet is
to* cr^sidered by most schools the minimum amount of ipn e thai
a be allowed for each child. Then the "military schools "were

kooedby their nominal " barrack " accommodation, instead of by

amber of children who did or could attend them. They ought

to hare been added in at all, and they have since been struck

tat of efficient public elementary schools. And in many

tic schools the full number of places calculated were — and are —

<n*ny reasons not really available.

Then, again, the profuse promises of enlargement that were made

- by the managers and friends of the voluntary schools— often

»>dt the intent to stave off the evil day when it might become

■aesmy to plant a Board school in the neighbourhood— were in

1 cases not redeemed. In addition, many private-adventure

■a* were reckoned in the eftk ient list, with the hope that if time

aagrvcnlhctn they would bring themselves up to the necessary

cadard of efficiency. This hope has been grievously disappointed,

I «d scores of these small schools have liven condemned by the F.du-

f obm Department, and their accommodation has ceased to be calcu -

I aed as available. Other schools also, for many and various reasons,

lore from time to time been closed, and the children left to seek

The Gentleman's Magazine.

accommodation elsewhere. ' Last, and no: ufoucl.

and another, " Ragged," "Church," " ining 40,000

places, have been transferred to the Board, usually in consequence
of the inability of the managers to continue to raise xutficicnt sub-
scriptions to carry them on; but in some cases bec imagers
liked the Board system of education as well as, or better than, tl.
own, and were glad to be relieved of the care of their schools.

The effect of all these deductions hat l«en to create a defr
some 100,000 places on the orig;i late of accommodation pro-

vided, «r to he provided, by voluntary means ; while, on the other

■ annual increase of pi pulation has been unexpected!;
and it is found that the children of the elementary school class
London increase at the rate of some six or seven a year,

■st all these children have to be accommodated by the

id, for the voluntary agencies have been, and an »di

occupied in holding their own to be able to do more 1 hlly

increase the p their icboi

The schedules of the School Board \ isitors for las- wed

a total of 612,00c of the elementary school class between

the ages of 3 and ltd «if these it is calculated that Ml

518,000 . will increase year

>car. The voluntary system, foi >ily pro-

vides ac< >r 374, 500 children, instead of for the 350,000

nearly 250,00 i- left to be for by the Board. I

have stated that the ori| >■ ' 1 Hoard prov

forth to die p limited to about 100,000 places, and I

ral that the ratepayers should now grumble torn 'ien they

see ' ujion to pro. ore

children than they were led to expect, and find the rate
pence halfpenny In tl It is.

1 During tin- yi*r ending Ml . is;s, 41 "effickal , wlia

accommodation foe 5,000 children, closed tl"

Tbc reatooa givea (or thu »tep were at 1
accomaMxUttoe for ijs children, > . uMamam

•latins 958, were condemned** ••iitstitncJeni

accommodation for 1,120, wrie clotcd on accuu -«s*

rro diaa-iiued." "kaxne., , ncooawandalWia; ttS,

nn remaoe for eknlng «n» given ; ihew mate air -

'"dais" accounted fur two acaool--
11 w hoots with accnanmoriatloi. «d

Ugh '• waat affl ghl Itad 1 -«,

•thrr two mcii a Irwr «■! •caool

The London School Board and its Work. 203

bla: >ard for this vast increase in the number of children

brought under their care, seeing that they arc bound to supply

all deficiencies and shortcomings of the voluntary system on pain

I eing dissolved as a School Board in default. The London Board

. by no m lit, for 11 \ in existence

=00,000 children,

inary," and "transferred" scho. I . Id the proportions of

ito.ooo, 12, 000, and 22,000. It has also in course of erection

•choc-Is ' _' places for 30,000 children ; while additional

inished — and many of them
*S aot be erected for irs— will contain some 62,000 places.

T« 12,000 places in the temporary schools will be then absorbed,
» that when the network of Board schools, as at present projc
uojjnjilci "c for 278,000 children.

the voluntarj led for oUicr 274,500

cUdran : thus within a few feats, it ;ill the projected schools

ate built, in London alone, there will be » I ai com-

raccktion for 552,000 chtldrei elementary school class, m

inercaie of 290,000 places on 1871, or more than 100 per cent.

These grand totals apply to the future ; but even at present the

"saber of children on the rolls of vc limitary and Board,

kifetojt exactly double that of 1S71. At Christmas of this

"anbcronly amounted to 222,500, while last Christmas it was 444,300.

The cost g the land (and taking land under compulsory

peters is a costly process), building and furnishing the Board schools,

lad repairs to those transferred — permanent transferred schools always

ixpenses — have already necessitated a capital expen-

I over ^£3,000,000, and it is probable that the capital account

•iD 1 d short of .£5,000,000.

ird's expenditure this year will probably amount to
^595.°o°> involving a rate ol 5} Y. in Che 1 mund. The lion's sliare of die
racomc is of course absorbed by school management expenses, Bfld
under this head some .£345. 000 nt. Interest and repayment

of loans take .£133.000 iforcing< n" and "industrial

ich< ^68,000 ; this last ex|)endii.: aid

be 1 mtary as well as die Board school-..

It i» difficult, with any pretence to accural ble

'• >ard ; for even when the arrears of past

deficiency ar nadc good, fresh schools will have to be

I to keep • annual increase of children; it is

hoped, I lie assesuble value of property in London will

increase equally with the demands upon it, and — the sc.\\oo\ \io\iVkW

204

The Gentleman's Magazine.

tion once overtaken— liabilities /or future needs will not < ,;er

rate.

But the chief clement of uncertainty is the future ol ttXJf

schools. Will they be able to hold their own in the cdui
or will they be forced to give up the contest and throw their children
m masse on the hands of the Board -

The effect on the I R course of action would be very

serious indeed. At present the voluntary system e<: ore than

half the children in Ixmdon without any expense to the ratepayers—
though partly, of course, at the expense of the taxpayer — and if this
quarter of a million of children were handed over to the Board — even
though it had not to provide new buildings for all the children — the
rate would be doubled, and the annual expenditure would amount to
over ,£1,000,000 ; a serious charge for edu

On the cause of elementary education such a result «ronId l>-
less disastrous. For instead of the present healthy competition, the
useful variety Of educational tyrie*, the choice of *cho«>! du-

ration would gravitate towards one uniform Ic-.t.-:, and I a 0/

management would tend to become highly centralis I h school

■ 1 ncighlx>ur, and not being stirred by
any denominational riwalry or se> .nparison, would at

iK in energy and vitality. I lin, education would lose-

that whirli it can ill spare— the motive power of religious zeal, and
reli; nation would grievously suffer both actually and by

example, while the bun influence 1 hools of outside

persona! interest and management would I led.

There can be little doubt but that the weakest and poorest ol
voluntary schools will be gradually

are symptoms apparent as though the whole volunta 1 1 were in

a decline. During the first few years after the Board began
work, tlic voluntary schools made some progrc 1 to

filling up the gaps formed in the: annua) transfi

schools to the Board, they increased their accomnv
150,000 places in December 1872 to 288,000 u>
lUit this w.is their most flourishing ye-> ace been

rapidly; and omroodai icir

schools only amounted to 274,500 places.

These figures are not very encouraging, but I cann 1
■mdon trr
thigh. There ou; : -not to -in

■rtcrs of the

The London School Board and its Work. 205

while the Board arc demanding a heavy compulsory rate from the
other, more especially as of late years the Government grants
carried l»y the children lave considerably lightened the burdens to
be borm voluntary sul be, however, that

Mai will abate— an incrt-v on 0M pocket 100 often has a

sobering effect on enthusiasm— and a generation which knew not
may grow up and refus at : Ihc doom ot

these school* will then be scaled.

So (ar, however, those which have fallen Ofll ol the ranks, or gone
<rwto tl>c enemy, have been for I part the manned, the halt,

aadihc blind. 1 hough the cripples and the weak ait thus lost, (he
strong and healthy are left, and they should be able still to maintain
their ground.

In live nature of things it was inevitable that some schools would
bejfessed out of eastern e, for of late years there has been RIi
Ojaciening of the educational desires and demands of the: nation that
"tare no longer content with the old low, stagnant level at which
edsation had rem-i

Asking, then, as the schools which disappear are those only which
do tot satisfy the requirements of the times, and so long as the Hoard
•*noohj which supersede them do not exceed these requirements, no
lorrr of education can really regret thi tton, bal must

Kjoiee to sec them 1 -tricked.

Further change than this, however, can be thought desir-

*bk; and the last and the two previous School Board elections
COBplified the modi n <>f the 1 . their wish to hive

London thoroughly with educational means, and their

ngness to allow the voluntary schools to be distressed or
harassed.

It is unlikely that .1 Board would ever be elected for the express

panose of destroying the voluntary iystem, and even if it were, it

would find great d . carrying out its orders. Bycxtravagt

expenditure it might do some injury, but il 1 ould neither lower [ts

fees nor build a single school without the consent of the Fdu«*BfiftH

Department. And here is the chief guarantee that the competing

system will not be unfairly treated : namely, that the Board, before

Id or enlarge a school, must obtain the consent of

trtment t" the ichei

the Board to sift all prn- providing

threshed out by tl ■

tic. •, of the Board before

th« >i its ippn e it

:o|>osa!s of the Board, Sometimes, howevet," ^\>j

206

The Gentlemaris Magazine.

ft I«

LoTds" consider Uiat loo much provision is being made, and rcfuK
to sanction more than a pan of the scheme. Oi easionaUy tin

it altogether ; more rarely they suggest an increase, or draw

lion to districts that in their opinion require additional school
accommodation.

In thfl c.rly day* of the Board — so great was the lack of;
modation — there was little fear but that a school planted tl
anywhere would be in the right place, and would not
affect the neighbouring schools. But now arrears and di
have to B Urge extent been overtaken ; and it is r*
Board to exercise extreme caution in proposing new buildings,
they shall wittingly or unwittingly permanently injure any of
existing schools.

All proposals for erecting schools in the overcrowded disti
where the inhabitants are not likely to be able t

' ts like the City, or parts of Westminster, where the j<o;n
is actually diminishing in consequence of " improvement
most jealously criticised. But in the suburbs, and the*
where population is almost certain to increase, and where
scarcely any voluntary schools, it is good economy to take j
account the probable future needs of the neighliourhood, and
schools larger than the actual existing requirements of die j
might warrant

Whether however the Board under-btiild or over-build,
will be some complaint) and ;u . u , uions, for many managers
BUppOrten Of the voluntary schools look with great jealousy
the School Board and all its works, arc suspicious of its good
and arc unable to hat it can possibly have a tender

for any rival system or school. There arc other supporters >
voluntary system who recognise the importance and necessity of 1
work of the Hoard, and arc ready as far as they can to work at)
with it for the cause of education. But these latter—as
the former — complain, and complain justly, of the inert'
that arc taken to prevent a new Board school, when first
from being, often at once, almost completely filled by childrei i
the neighbouring schools, while those for whom it was
intended — tin t school at all— ar<

extent, crowded out from the beginning.

There can, 1 think, be no doubt that the grievance is a real
serious one, both pecuniarily to the volunt Is, and free?

educational point of view ; but effectual remedies are hard to
The Board have refused to pass stringent measures to avert the

oil

Tlit London Srftool Board and Us Work. 207

fearing lest the " liberty of the parent " should be infringed, and lest
the Derations of the compulsory by mid be impeded.

ek that was proposed would, for three months afte
ng, have kept a new Board school closed to all children who
Ktually and had been lately attending school ; and it w .
hoped by these means that the •'neglected" children might obtain
a firm footing before those from neighbouring schools could take
e& This scheme was rejected, but the Board have lately
adopted a resolution which provides that the uts of

visitors in each division be ordered to obtain, previous to the open-
ing of a school, the names and addresses of all the children in the
locality who arc not attending any efficient school, or receiving proper
instruction in some other manner, and placet are to be kept for
ice of one month. We may hope that this
plaji

It must not be forgotten that the evil arising from this form of
migration is usually only temporary, for, as we have shown, no school
sufficient children "on paper" to fill it with-
out drawing upon existing schools. And as the requirement-; art
very carefully calculated, as soon as the first shifting is over all the
schools arc, as a rule, again filled with children.

It is but natural that there should be a certain exodus of. hildren
from an old to a new school when die latter is first ojHined. The
old schools were probably overcrowded, and must expect to lose part
of their surplus ; and the new school is nearer to the homes of many
:idren. Then the fine l" the novelty

and cleanliness, strike the imagination 1 the ch3d

they love change, and think at all events they will try how they like
the Board school. While, no doubt, the lower fee— if the fee be lower—
and the exemption from contributing towards the cost of the school
books, are temptations to the parents. Those of them who have been
struggling on from month to month, paying with great difficulty the
higher fee, and living in the hope of the Board school being soon
opened, would greatly resent any arbitrary prolongation of the time ;
and not posses owei of refusal for a specified time,

the managers and teachers find it impossible to turn away the children
who jwescnt themselves for ad

The Bo. 1 he best means of preventing injustice,

or undue rival scd towards the neighbouring s. i

by handing over the care of their school to a body of managers—
largely composed of friends to the voluntary system, and often with
the clergyman of the parish as their chairman — who will certainly

208

The Gentleman's Magazine.

race

not be biassed in favour of the Board system. These managers fix
the fee, choose the teachers, exam

illy the working of the school in minur dc
Unfortunately the tendency of all large public bodies is towards
i-.r.ion, and ihc Hoard managers have unwillingly seen
power grow less ami lea*, It is in this matter of moo
I, that tin: voi; esse* their eh

that which will tend largely to BU
e. I must not be understood to depreciate for one
the work or the zeal of the manager* of the Bi
ratepayers and the Board lie under a . ■stion to tb<

and y.< devote so much time and take so much Hi

in the m.r of the school*, Mid I

managers ft] intelligent, hardworking, and xcalous,

but it is no: to feel the highest interest and pride

in a school in which they have no actual or ultimate power.

The Board S ROOls, being all on form system, arc

necessarily worked to a large extent from the central on
managers can only mi md their de> ■■ ■

liable at nr.y moment to be revised 1 by the School Manage-

ment Committee, [fa serious rises between the manager*

und a teacher, they i w into their own hands ami

dismiss him ; th< mend The Committee to do vo,

ne accused can appeal rvthing of the least

• n-ported to one or other of the Board I
.while ad Mthcrwords. commands— is of

to the manager* from the Hoard. They have draw i their

benefit, guid .n elaborate code of regalai

and tfi . i . . onform to the rules thus enjoined

: hem.
Contrast these manage «d, confn

owners and manager

has a genuine individual pride ami .•» of

ool , if it docs we: I ted glory illuminatea him nbo —

whereas if a Board scboc the Board

between them the honm d the managers are

left in the cold shade of negli
school managers are I
the most eflec;

id school managers. anj

The Lotidon School Board and its Work 209

mat rtspcct them and defer to them in a nay that probably no
lacher in a Board school would do to his mauagi -r ■..

In this matte: I fear there is no remedy. It is inevitable, when
ihepotrcrof the purse, and the responsibility for expenditure ovej a
W network of schools is vested in one central body, that the work*
ingand manageri>ent should also be largely directed from the same
autre. All that can he done is to watch with care the privileges of
lit manager .-. far as possible to prevent one jot M

one tittle of th, Bt power from passing away. For if their

itjf and responsibility were to I >t- liiminishcd, it would become
nxmsingly difficult to attract intelligent men and women to the
the schools would be more and more governed from the
.J office. The consequence would be a system of management
*wid of the humanising influences of personal contact, ntcfafill-
«■, ami encouragement, that stimulate and largely conduce to the
aoolweUare of the teachers and children.

The chief novelty and experiment introduced by the Education

Actcf 1870 was the application of compulsion to school attendance.

Ussy and doleful were the predictions of failure — of worse than

Wee— of evil consequences that would spring from the " slavery "

dunes. They ■■■■ lalised as tyrannical clauses, and as gross

■feiftjements of liberty. It was said that compulsion applied to

ojucarion could and would not answer. Fortunately all these

jewniads have been entirely falsified. The compulsory byc-iaws

b»* worked smoothly and with wonderfully little friction. No doubt,

*fcm first introduced, many of those affected by them kicked against

4e pricks, and a certain amount of sullen resistance manifested

SeH This was but natural, ignorance as much as obstiinu y being

<*a the cause of neglect of the new regulations ; for the knowledge

•n it «as the bounden duty of all parents to send their children

•»»4ool for eight <>r nine yean of their lives made but slow progress

^ighihc masses. However, even from the very first, few parents

I 'nifhmcd of hardship or oppression ; while, on the other hand, in-

•■co of defiance or insolence to the committees were of rare occur-

**t,and it is very creditable to the body of the parents that the

don of so novel an experiment, affecting them so closely,

I have caused but little murmuring or resistance.

The principle of compulsion has now been in force some years,

*& his been making its way silently but surely. When the habit of

totting the children regularly and punctually to school shall have

*fan firm root in the minds and customs of the people, it may be

ftotble to make some reduction in the extensive machinery now

rtn. ccxtv. wa 1784. e

210 The Gentleman's Magazine.

empl loud in enforcing the bye-laws. This time is not

yet. but it should be nearly approaching before many more years

l>y. The excuse often given for neglecting to send a child

i there is no school conveniently near, or no ro
—will soon be obsolete, while other causes of al ■■

ntih. Then w rents conic to knot

a child bom now enters the world with the inevitable

•I school attendance from five years of age to thirteen, the-.

mind* to his fate and send him without com;

At unwnl the worst offenders arc chiefly those whose children

nd growing up before anything was really known of the Educa-
\. i\ They had ther. -i calculating on eking out

own wages by the pi ir children might earn l> -age,

tad now, finding their hopes blighted, consider the}' n de-

tain, jhtful gains, and are proportionately olMitin.it

•itgh the bye-laws work smoothly, the results so fin

satisfactory. The percentage of average
attendance on the numbers on the rol bar word

regularity of attendance — which largely depends on the bye- laws
II considerably below the 95 per cent, which it is hoped
to attain, liaving as yet only reached v

ir by year, however, a gradual though slow

% bible, and the percentage has risen from the

Bgun of 65 8, at which it stood in 187a, to the present

1 I '.:: ■ ■'.: .1. the regularity of attendance in die Board

l» has been progressing, the percentages of attendance in

.tlunury schools have not been making the same N

.; in 1871 the percentage sunk to 753 in 1873,
ily 77-8.
ws arc worked as much in the interest- dun-

.ir percentage should be Jt least
10 that of their rival, and it would probably apjiear lx

Dikf way. In the Board schools the
is nominally taken oil the register, a-
ige attest nceroed.

iry school* the diikl
the attendance-average 1 cleft

ige. It is pro-
I ears the •
iimtary vise
in the latter, has lowered lb. go.

-he children ia not nearly no regular m

Tlu London School Board and its Work. 2 1 1

it should be, it compotes favourably with that which prevailed under
the purely voluntary system, before Board schools and compulsion
became factors in the question. We must remember that in 1876
6* children at school were really the pick of half ■ million— there
we only some 174.0C0 in avenge attendance then — that those who
vent to school went because they liked to go, or because their parents
Paired it; and wc should naturally expect such rhildren to be regular
itltndants. While now the children in average attendance amount to
Wer 350,000, and the Hoard have reached the lowest classes, yet. 111
spite of the decided tendency to irregular attendance th.it must have
been imported into the by the introduction of the least

regular and punctual classes, the regularity and punctuality of attend-
ance has on the whole increased, and is increasing slowly but
%adily. The regularity of attendance in any particular school
depends to a CO) lc extent also on the character of the teacher.

He who is up to his work and has influence over the children will
rapidly fill a half-empty school, and will marvellously improve its regu-
hrity and punctuality. I believe that if the teachers had greater confi-
dence in their powers of instilling regular habits into the children,
*nd did not depend so much on the exertions of the visitors, they

» "night, with little effort, considerably improve the average attendance.
To enforce the bye-laws the Board employs a staff of 2to visitors
•■d n superintendents, one to each of the divisions; die cost last
year amounted to .£38,000. Bach visitor has, on nn average, about
a>5<» children under his supervision. By .1 house-to house vi -.it he
Schedules his district and obtains the names of the children ; and, as
*** is provided with duplicates of the attendance register of the
*«^oc<b in his block, he is enabled to discover whether all the
D "f school age are attending school, and whether they are
***»fog the proper numbci ol attendances, if he finds that a child is
**«tttending, or is irregular at school, he sees the parent if he can
**d cannons him, and if this has no effect he serves a warning D

ittcntion — or not sufficient attention — is paid to the notice,
her form B," is served, which requires the reeal-

*»« parent to appear before one of the numerous "Notice B
^annittecs " which are dotted over London.

In answer to this summons one of the parents usually appears to

*pbin why his child has not been duly attending school, to

^sewhy the child should be wholly or partially exempted from

'"rrdmce, or to request remission of fees. The committee — which

kof a member of the Board, the superintendent, and often an

"eettide" lady or gentleman— give judgment as the case seems to

J>3

2 1 2 The Gentleman's Magazine.

inlet "full time or summon," "summons at onoe

before Mull time," " hall ." "medi-

i be produced," &c. If the parent fails to appear, the

com U dealt with on the information detailed by the visitor, or else is

adjourned to give him another chance. Wit en the parent DCglci

. in him, ■ lummona is uken out,
anj he has to tppe II before a magistrate.

I ' show wltat great care tl taken not to proceed to the last

tliout adequate cause, I may mention that hist year, out of

the io.ooo ewes in which summon : only

were dismissed l>y the magi>; I several of these because it

bund that the Child was over thirteen. The Board, while

eye and firm band • of neglect, is

the Willing and hardworking jurent every

with the law before putting |l unst him.

.-. are seldom made against any of the

1 still more seldom is it found that the visitors I

ionally tlie pnpeta seize on what they c
IBMO and publish it forth to the world, but they rarely take

fthe trouble to report the other side, and the Board generally have a
sufficient answer to any accusation of injusti
The scope of the bye-laws has been lately considerably enlarged
by the additional powers given to the Board to caution and prosecute
employers who infringe the employment clauses oi
of 1876. The weapon thus placed in the hands of the School Board
cannot fail to be of great use j an power of

the tempter as well as at the tempted will before long |
end to all illegal employment of children of school age.

The case with which compulsion can be worked depends to a

B extent on the amount of the weekly fees charged in the schools.

it the Board schools in London, besides being low, are

1 department in a school, though the second

, often pays only half or | The

: a school generally pay the same fee, and the infant*

1 The following c*se — lo pre one Inilancr ly commented Ml bf

«fcc |U|xn when they re[»rtc<t Ihe •• fini he»rln<." A n>ane»l

•rndinghcr children— • buy of nine «»d » .

Ircn were uisui

I 01. and >l)oiit— d r

the Kcmvi .luck pro!

eTeniktu «.-.
L !•»«>» «k«, wm ranting to., ind Mooter tea— said •!

.cieupel) fined, Ifat

The London School Board and its Work. 1 1 3

somewhat less. There are schools at all fees between one penn
nincpence— the jn'nny fees are chiefly in the infant*' department—
and the average fee throughout I-ondon is :i little over tVOpi IN t
week. Vet even at this low figure the Hoard were for
remit the fee in 3,800 cases, and to renew remission In 1,300 1

The Board has from time to time been attacked on the score of the
uniformity and lowncss of its fees ; and it has been urged with con-
siderable force, that those parents who can afford it should be forced to
contribute more largely than they do now to the expense of their
children's education. Let us examine the question to sec whether it
or practicable at once to raise the fees to my
appreciable cm

It 1 !>c supposed that the Board fix the feei in an arbi rary

or haphazard way. On the contrary, before a T!o;m<I school il
opened the manag< mum of the fee that

they think would best suit the needs of tin- neighbourhood ; and
baring, as a rule, local knowledge of the district in v. chool

itcd. they can give a shrewd gu< ige amount thai

can be paid all the year round without any gnat hardship by the
mass of tfiosc who will use the school. The managers send op their
recoi 'ii to the School Management Committee, who almost

invariably adopt tin ons without alteration, obtain the con-

tent of the Board, and forward the proposed scale to the Education
Deportment for their approval.

Those who advocate the adoption of higher fees in Board si !
do so as a rah i the voluntary system. An I the

plan which seems i. \ould fix the fa Board

school "at least as high as the highest foe charged at anj
neighbouring schools," and would graduate the fee in individual cases
to the supposed ability Of the parents to pay, while giving inert

caption t'i>
There are strong objections to such a proposal. And Brat, it would
largely increase the difficulties of carrying out the bye laws. Corny
b not so popular, nor docs it work so easily, Aval *Jt CM aflbrd
way to clog its wheel*. It is evident that if the tendency that tl

art of many parents to avoid the schools were to be

ised and extended — as it would be, if the fees were raised— the

iff would have to be enlarged, and much of the 1

drawn from the poor by the increased fees would merely pass into the

ts of additional visitors. Again, there is little apparent hardship

tn requiring a man to pay a penny or twopence a week for the schooling

pf each of his children, when the total amount — say with flu*

IV* I

T/u Gentleman' s Maga

t»tk

■en — would only be some fourpence or sixpence ; while the que*-
tion would assume a different aspect if the law were appealed to to force
■ pay a shilling ox cightccnpcncc a week, or even more, out of
the eighteen, or twenty-five shillings he may be earning,
i The chief argument, however, against this scheme, and one well
nigh insuperable, would be the difficulty of ascefl be amount

of fee a parent could or ought to pay. Hon-, with s ce to

accuracy, could cithcT the actual wage on of

wages to necessary rent, the amount that Smith should pay as
compared to Jones, be dl And th name

al inquisitors would have to be
employed to rout up the past hi ;ent recr: future

prospects of all parents who professed themselves unable to pay the
full fee clurged at the school. The result would be endless worry,
ad ill feeling, scarcely relieved by the faintest prospect of
Ilk enough at present for the "
Committees" and the Bye-laws Committee to settle whether a parent
CM pa] fee, or is incapable of payi: But

with a graduated scale of fees, the committees would have peremptorily
to decide whether the full fee or no fee at all, or some sum ranging
between uinepence and one penny, was to be paid, and the
information they would be able to obtain must in most cases
necessarily be very " incomplete, and therefore unworthy of confi-
dence 1 ith with three children, wages sex, future uncertain,
rent 6x., to pay more or less than Jones with two children, wages iSs.,
certain future, rent +». ? Neither rent, wages, nor number of children
can be taken separately as the basis on which to judge of the amount
of ice to be demanded All these three and many other points must
iwdcrrd if any apprcurinution to fairness is to be attempted.
Then again, in many pans of London the sun of prosperity si
on the wotting classes, the small shopkeepers, Sec. far six months in
vr. and the; make their hay then, while in the ochc:

>rxl earnings diminished. It is evident that in
pass that every few months the par
appear beferc his valuer* to be appraised afresh. Much of
vak»Mc ume will thu* be Kin. and as the power of renunxi
beoMrustcd to urcqvn**hJc persons, the work esmk-d an :

wtD be aoHKthmg appattag. At preacnt their duties
*cnUj eacsaa* m ruoBtrJam with ifcc bye4sw» pure sai
Ml •<» the threw or fesst tVrnnrf cases of rcmi*>
rvaac beta* iWm> Triple ot ftsasfcayic the fas, and t!
■en *h»> *vi VI V awenl la araw? tx whole or

The. London School /loan/ and its Work. 215

ssion will be increased fifty or .1 hundred-fold, while the vei
multitude of the cases would r .led hearing or

careful consideration, and the justice would necessarily be
ind r.
But there is yet another aspect of the question— the effect
ild have on the poorer classes. The poor
possess at present sufficient just and sensible pride to pr
from begging for remission of the fee when they can possibly avoid
doing so. Though no application for ten appily docs not

brand the mark ol m on the: applicant, still the request

rs of bcggir.i;, the : I with < harity, and to disclose

■■ always painful. Many therefore struggle on without
complaint, though sore put to it to find the weekly pence , but if the
fee w< t so high that it bc< "-ccssity for the

majority, or foi Bomber of the . > to apply for partial

remission, the Hood-gates of proper pride and right feeling would be
swept away, and applications would flow in fast and furious. The
feature would be tliat those with least sense of poverty, those
with least ; mold be just <l uals to press their 1

most clamorously, and probably those to obtain the greatest a:
of relief ; the worse will seem the better case.

Again, we must no that the poor have paid directly and

indirectly large am'. irds the education of their < bildiCB. It

cannot, of course, be pretended that the parents who send their
children to Board schools contribute anything ng the full

nit of the cost of education. Though they pay some ,£60,000
a year in fees alone, this represents but a small fraction of the real
cost.

1 before compulsory education was introduced, they wcTe free

y and take, or refuse and save thi U they thought In.

Now they must pay, whether they like it or no, and lose their

children's earnings into the bargain. And it is thus iudire- try that

have been mulcted most heavily by the Education
Formerly a man, the father of three children, would have passed as
a very respectable and .-.elf-denying parent, if he had kepi fa
at school until they were ten or eleven years of age, and had then
sent them to work; while now such a parent is forced to kc
ran at school till a much later age, and is, directly for fee
indirectly by loss of earnings, thirty or forty pounds the poorer than
■ mgener.

Apply some such calculation to the case of the majority of the
parent nber that in 1871 not half the children in London were

2l6

The Gentleman's Magazine.

at school ; and ii v. ill be seen that tlie poorer classes have
m-.ickr.t!]!:' share of the burdens of education.

i OtmpukOry education ■ still hi it) infancy, and until it has takes
a firm root in tin- habit* of the people, the wisest policy

must be, 1 think, to fix the fees at a low figure. When wages have
adapted them ilvcs to the new state of things, and when the eyes of
the ! '■■■ »< I -Hy Opened W the advantages of education, it may be
possible gradually to raise the present low scale of fees without any
injury resulting to the cause <>f education.

The object of this paper has been to deal primarily with the
liool provision, bye- laws, end fees, and I <
but a few words to the important questions of school manage
It is now generally recognised that the religious teaching given in tl:
London Board Schools, though perhaps not so " thorough ■ as
taught in the voluntary schools, and certainly not so dogmatic, I
nevertheless sound, healthy, and essentially religious. The Boani
Inspectors report favourably of the zeal and earnestness shown
the teachers in imparting religious knowledge; and thcintcrc
in the Bible teaching is indicated by the fact that this year 113,1
children entered for the examination for the " Peck's prizes," giv
each year by a member of the Board for proficiency in religious
knowledge. It is satisfactory that the so-called " religious difficulty '
practically docs not exist ; not more than one child in a thou
and those mostly Jewish children— being withdrawn from
religious instruction.

• ry of over-education is constantly being raised through
the country ; and if the assertions that are advanced with resjwet |
the amount and nature of the learning required in Board scl
were correct, the complaints of over-education would be no roc
than 1

It seems to be thought that because a few children learn
special and advanced subjects, every child in a Board school isc
learning or will be required to learn the mysteries of latin, Frcnc
German, Science, end 1 know not what. Bven if it were the
that all children were expected to learn the*: and other sut

Lilly alwtrtise, the Education Department and not the
Boards should be taken to task. The former offer special grants I
the advanced subjects, which the latter can scarcely be blamed fo
seeking to gain.
But what arc the real facts ?
The subjects of instruction are divided into "Standard an
Class ■ and " Special "; some of the schools do not attempt any 1

The London School Board and Us Work. 2 1 7

; Utter subjects. The Standard subjects arc : Religious Teaching
ind tkt thru /ft ; while the Class include a very elementary know,
ledge of English Grammar, History. Geography, and (in Girls' depart-
ments) Plain Needlework ; and of these only two can be taken up by
a child. To these arc added : Object Lessons, Drawing, Music, and
Drill The infants are taught Bible Reading and the three R's, receive
•bject- lessons of an elementary character, instruction in Singing and
Sewing, and do Physical Exercises.

The Special subjects- which are confined to children in the

and higher standards, and of which only two can be taken

jre those in :kc Government Code, and include

!>tary English Literature, Domestic Economy with Simple

r.inal physiology, Physical Geography, French, etc. The

I two are by Mr 1 vourite subjects, and they are followed

1 considerable distance by Animal Physiology and Physical Gco-

>. while the other subject! ore taught to very few children.
Last year only 10 per cent, of the children in average attendance
! presented at the Govir.m: mations in special subjects,

»Ue the amount of grant earned for these subjects was about
(percent of the total gr u
The subjects of instnu » ificd above make, no doubt, a

[list, and some of the names arc high-sounding and alarming.
1 if we define them, we shall find that they arc not so terrifying
r alL " Domestic Economy," for example, simply means that plain
itions and lessons arc given to the children on food, clothing,
don, and other kindred points which it is of the utmost impor-
ter the rising generation to know and to practise. If these
i were designated " Hints lot 1 (earth and House," their useful-
woold be more apparent. Then, "Drawing" means no more
instruction in the simplest of simple freehand, memory, and
i drawing ; and " Music " merely includes singing in unison
learning the note* The other subjects, too, mostly resolve
shrcs into equally elementary elements.
yet, at all events, the upper .lasses are by no means over-
I-ast year, but about 17 per cent, of the children in the
I schools were in the fo-.irth, fifth, and sixth standards combined,
but another 17 per cent, had risen even to the third, while the
children were in the second, first, or no standard at all.
I a third-standard boy is not a prodigy of learning ; he is only
in read a short paragraph with intelligence, to write small
capital letters and figures; notation, numeration up toa million,
division, compound addition, and subtraction, are his antrum*

218

The Gentleman s Magazine.

tical limits ; while for grammar he has to point out verbs, nouns, ai
adjectives; and, in addition, he is expected to know the outlines
the geography of England, with spcci.il knowledge of his own com
— and that is all.

It may be that School Boards arc developing, or in the futu
will develop, a tendency towards a conglomeration of learning, I
the neglect of the simpler and more useful subjects ; and such a bo
would require careful watching and checking. At present, howen
the meagrcness of the numbers in die upper standards hard
justifies the complaints of over-education, cramming, and aequisttk
of useless knowledge, that are levelled at School Hoard education.

To give some idea of the magnitude of the labour* o( the J-omk
Sdii I may mention that last year 560 Hoard and Commitli

meetings were held at the Central office, besides these divine*
members' meetings, ffii 1 thousand Committee meetings I

carrying out the bye-laws, were held in different ports of Londo
Add to these, the innuim t ibk tchOOl manager bet mectinj

and enquiries, attended to a large extent by the members, it
some approximate idea is attained of the demands on the time si
attention of the fifty members who compose the London
Board.

Moreover, the amount of the work shows no tendency to 1
but is continually enlarging, as new schools arc built, and as
points spring up in connection with provision, compulsion
education.

The beneficial results of all this vast expenditure of time, mono,
and thought, are not I actually apparent. Many, seeing an

feeling that million', of money have been sunk in the educattoao
London's children, and perceiving but a small apparent return »
the capital, are inclined to grumble at the expense, and to doubt*
wisdom or ex|»cdicncy of universal and compulsory education. The)
forget that the tree has not been long planted ; that it is early yet t>
expect ri|>e fruit : that the plantation of schools over London is *8
incomplete, and that the majority of the Hoard schools arc butaje*
or two old, many but a few months.

I-et the gntmblers have yet a little patience. They have alreW]
seen a diminution in the number of juvenile attested bj

official returns ; and they should next Me the whole criminal eta*
and then the pauper roll, steadily deer

And as the rising generation grows up, wc believe they *nllW
unable to avoid acknowledging the evidence of a vast increase •
provident habits, intelligence at work, unproved health, happf

B ns jromises.

gh the London School Board has, no doubt, made some
and though economy has not always been the order of
the work that it has done is sufficient to redeem nutnp
t has manfully grappled with the gigantic and nevcr-cnrling
upplomcnting the education of London — if that can be
upplcrnentary " which is to the full as large as the existing
—and has raised London from the low estate to which she
i to not far from her proper place in the education lists.

SYDNEY C. BUXTON.

220

The Gentleman s Magazine.

IV A R AND ITS ATTENDANT
MALADIES.

THE question of how to keep an army in good health is qm
as important as the supply of ammunition or food, but it «
long before this fact was practically recognised, or received ll
attention which the subject deserved. Yet the proportion of sick
war is usually three times the number of the slain, and though da
on the battle-field from the shot or shell of the enemy has Ixen sa
by poets, and possesses almost an attraction to the romantic imagp
tions of some youthful spirits, ■ death from cholera, typhoid fe*
hospital fever, or any other of the insidious train which folio* t
march of large armies, and arc likely to be particularly prevalent
a winter campaign, is an unvarnished object of dread ; and if disci
makes its presence felt early in the proceedings, it is certain to hi
a more or less disastrous effect on the plans of the belligerents.

The strict medical examination which a candidate for the on
or navy is obliged to pass, speaks for the necessity of the sounJl
health in both services, whether officers or men ; anil it is certti»<(
the ill-health or death of a general in the held has caused deliyi
the military operations he had undertaken, which proved fatal
them. General Philippe de Segur, the author of " T)
Campaign in Russia in 1811," remarks upon the "iron cm
of Marshal Ney, "without which," he tells us, "no man can I
hero." It was a theory which this military writer held very |

1 An 0I1! KMhoninn v. bQoWt: —

" GmM I tad ■ I «•- bl t!m war,
I >ir in the war without sickness.
Go off with the shot of the enemy.
Without ihc weary pain,
V, uliout the weakness of death,

! 11 mi ihe wute of sicknoM,
■Setter to fait asleep In the battle,
To fall before the banners.
To sell your life to the sword.
To the arrows from the ero*s
Tofifclu *

War and ils Attendant Maiadus.

221

1th. for almost
tl the failures of every commander sril i he served, or to

•Soci be was opposed. It is, in fact, when carried to thai extent, a
jeculiarly French excuse — endurance of j«in not being a quality to
•hich the French as a nation ever try to lay claim; but an luig-
bshaan hardly thinks a severe toothache or a bilious attack a
nffiaeni reason for neglect of duty, or of the welfare of many
thouwuls of men: though Napoleon's mistakes have all been
ucounted for by his admirers, and in their eyes satisfactorily, on the
ska of alleged tempi cnts. At Lcipsic, they tell us, he was

tufaing from having eaten too heartily of ill-cooked mutton seasoned
•ith onion odino, from a cold ; and at i-'ontainebleau and

Wiierioo, from other m&L hough these statements have been

daicd on still better authority ; and we may filirly quote BUB as a
?*&o/ of a hero with an iron constitution, if we believe the account
fctgnc of his own health to the I dmiial who escorted him

•oSt. Helena, and to l>r. Antomman hi, the phj noon who attended
Hb jutt before I To the first he said he had never been

re than twice in his life, and then only slightly; and to the

'"v-.l, that he had a client health, and had never

btv&whai i: was to have a heai "mal rtfestomac," and

at be had onl iture of his last malady — an internal

uact-- iv rapidly in the climate of St. Helena

ut a month tx cath in May, i8ai, tliough it was the

u«e complaint which had terminated his father's career.' In the
tarn he wrote to tfa is Josephine from Poland, in 1807, be

aadthat the extreme cold from which h was niffaing toiled

te was growing stout in spite of it ; and again he wrote

*ag the middle of the horrors of the retreat from Moscow, in i8«s,
•8,3s if, he had never been in better health. His death at

fctajjc of fifty- three was undoubtedly accelerated by the habits he fob
tacd at St. Helena, which could nut In. :!n rwiK than most

to a man who had previously led an active life. His
Wnpanion 1 -as Cases, tells us that he was particularly well

; the first six months h< there at -; Thi " but

feothc time he inhabited tongwood, he obstinately refused to take
Ooose, on account ttions he was subjected to if he

' Tiro ■ .fiicen on board Ibe Bellerophon, when Napoleon lurrendeced In
•*•$. kin <laciit>rO him lo u. terms. They thought he looked

'•»> 'Un W Bj{c, w i .en ; he Wtt a» active a» a sailor in springing

Cite lUl of the vevsei, nu-!, (bough very coipulcut, ga1 let of

)*MMog great ttrength. Me wis particularly deep-chested, and hod not a

222

The Gentleman's Magazine,

proceeded beyond the grounds; and as the Governor
directions that an English officer should sec him once a di
tiicd to prevent this by repeatedly making himself ill with largi
of medicine which compelled him to keep his room.1 A

Russian winter was not likely, at the age of I
tropica] climate agree with him; and the sjxit where he
not rendered more salubrious by the variation of very bill
Even without the depression which must have been prod
by exile, disappointed ambition, and frustrated revenge,

just mentioned were sufficient to debilitate his system, and i
it to hi attack from BS hereditary disease. He was also aocui
to take nafftt such excess that, after his death, his in'
were partly lined with it, and the unhealthy irritation this
snuff caused probably fixed the seat of the complaint,
therefore, regard his premature death as arising from artifici
and himself as one of those whose success in life was partly
excellent health.

The inverse proposition certainly docs apply to
generals who opposed Napoleon, and it is impossible to
compassionate admiration of the brave but infirm old
had aided in the victories of Frederick the Great, trying vain!
the tide of French success at Jena. The aged Austrian General
who, Segur in his " Mcmoires" tells us, was like a man troubk
ill lirinm, when he was sent to negotiate with him, was !>-..
threat of Napoleon's that, unless be surrendered the fortress
once to the French, the entire garrison, when it was at lost
to capitulate, should be shot as they were at Jaffa, " for it
right of war;" and he was thus forced into yielding the
Austria without any further defence, though an army was
its relief: while his Imperial master, a victim to dyspepsia,
ject to epileptic fits, asked for an interview, after his first
Austcrlitz, with Napoleon ; and in the space of half an hoar
according to Segur, this unfortunate Emperor Francis could do
but laugh nervously, he made a most burdensome peace and
with his enemy, and threw over all his former allies. The
General Benningscn, a Hanoverian by birth, and a man of
kept the field at Eylau; but risked a battle against .
and posted in the worst possible position, at Friedland,
consequently defeated, when suffering greatly * from a painM

• Tbc German ft ;n]xirnry, aaetts (kit

years 1812 13-14, be had acq 11 ■■■■ iWt of drinking strong grw»

■pints frequently In the day, to keep oft itrowtincM.

■ Sir R. Wilson'* HiiUry cfiKt W*r ./ 1806-7.

War and its Attendant Maladies. 223

'.km, which shortly Is required ;u» operation. Marshal

Rutuzov had lost an eye in battle, :;nd received two bullets through bis
ic«l,yct at the age of seventy-four, when unable to ride, and afflicted
■ith the infirmities common to old age,1 he was called upon to corn-
mod !: n armies, and drive the French from I ;cow.
General Wilson, who was then in Russia, asserts that another attack
<m the French, after the battle of Borodino (Sept. 7, 1S1 a), must have
cmprilcd Napoleon to retire, and I '. Moscow. But Kutuzov
hid only just accomplished a journey of 480 miles, "and the night
tat cold : so pcrhai rgies of a septuagenarian were wanting
«fle such a trying day." * It is not surprising; that in the depth of a
Raoon winter, marching over a wasted country, and having therefore
to amy all his sick and wounded with him, as wi II as fuel and
jawusions, he was not speedy . I his nOVi -atiify the
itiBponsitiU; !•'.! i.T.i I Wilson, who, seeing only

.-,nd the wising of the
CaRinentil which had paralysed our trade for six years,

winly urged him to fall upon the meti hed n mnant of the French
WB> and completely annihilate them before they crossed the
Rawtsn froi u ho died before the end of

a« Mr, had aim ng for the famished, half-clothed,

poshing Frenc res, struggling through the snow. He MB

•body unable to sh« I 1 men, and sin.

kffiag men who would jnobably soon die of themselves, when he
•» to follow them so quickly to the tomb. Hence, according to
GeseraJ Wilson, he wilfully permitted 30,000 to escape, including
fapotcon himself, thereby ■ another long war. Charles XII.

^Sweden was afflicted with a suppurating wound in the foot when
Wleat the battle of Pultowa, having never before had a day's illness ;
•ad was carried to the field on a chair, though he fled from it on
hxsciuck. ion prodiu in probably showed itself

B ah 0 n just before the battle, when the Russians forestalled

twain posting 11 on the best ground, that he " now saw that

had taught them the art of war." His adver
the Great, did indeed conduct a succes ngn i:i Persia when

caiRering from the painful malady whid his death.-1 but some

.y ccqiutenl and unwieldy that he w*» obliged ton
tlawt, eten wlxii in the ueld, io a carriage." — Wibon's Camfaigm e/ iBlS.

nyi th»t Kuiu/of had " |

■J Titan •/ AL f A'muu), red. iL |Tintley

ikt Gnat.

224 The Gentleman's Magazine.

yean earlier he had been compelled, by an epileptic attack, to I
wife to make a treaty of peace for him with tflC (irand
who commanded the Turks in the campaign on the l'nith, i
the institution of his old enemy, Charles \ll.. [:w.y had lir
truce with Russia and completely hemmed in her army ; and
treaty the Russians lost the town and fortress of Axov, wh
then their only port on the Black Sea. A hundred and fort
I. iter, cholera and low fever, even more than the enemy, ruin
plant of another Russian army in the same principality of Rov
where it was defeated in several battles ; and on this occasioc
commanded by old Marshal l'uskkvi:.-, who was suffcra]
internal cancer of which he died in about a twelvemonth,
battle of the Alma, quickly following this campaign, Prince Mc
who was opposed to us, had been lame in both legs for tuent;
years, from wounds received in the Turkish campaign in I
These instances will prove that the tnith of the axiom, " Mens
corporc sano," is especially shown in the commander of an art
would probably also apply to naval warfare : but our navy h
v*th no defeat in battle ' since the reign of Charles II., and the
of the Continental powers form too small a proportion of their
forces, and have been too little employed, to enable us to p<
same moral, by bringing forward sufficient proofs of it.

Yet, although age and sickness must seriously dimini
mental power, physical endurance, and bodily vigour ncccs
examine into all the details of a large araiy, to pore over mi
plans, and to take a clear and unprejudiced view of the positi
resources of the enemy, it must not for a mom* i I'pott

an aged, sick, or infirm man may not be extremely brave,
bys it down as a rule that deformed (and lame) persons
very bold, and we may often see them proficients in manly
while a man of splendid physical formation, it" he be much o
feet in height, frequently possesses the sort of temperament
nervous. The slow wits of a giant have become a proverb. Ll
tells us that uncommonly large men arc particularly vatna
royal guards, because they are by nature credulous, simple-m
and incapable of keeping a secret, and consequently of

■J!

lye*

' Unle» VI except the unfortunate attack liy the English and
tampaakftdd '" Ncjiteniber 1854, where the melancholy filicide of 1

, .n a tic of temporary insanity, seems to hare disconcerted or
execution of the combined plan. The Allied loss was four oftccrs 1
men killed, and six officer* and 1 1 wounded. The Ru

the victory, lo»t forty killed and tcrcnly-fivv mrrcro<;

' i'anJamiattt, 33. • Uvater's Nf

War and its Attendant Maladies.

225

ipirut their master. The greatest generals of ancient and modern
tows have been men of moderate, and frequently of small, Stature,
a Alexander the Great, Julius Cxsar, the Duke of Marlborough,
William III., Marshal Luxembourg, Frederick the Great, Admiral
the Duke of Wellington, Marshal Moltkc, Souvarov, and
Xipolcon ; while wc have instances of successful valour, under
jrett physical disadvantages, in the octogenarian Doge Daodolo,'
Mw had been blinded in his youth ; Marshal Saxe, who was
tarried to the battle of Fontcnoy in a litter, and gained the
noory ; the Tartar conqueror, Timur, whose right arm and kg were
crippled from an attack of paralysis * produced by a wound in fail
fast engagement; Sir Thomas Picton, who fought at Waterloo with
tioribs broken the previous day ; Nelson, who had lost as cyl and
m arm; the Moorish Sultan, Muley Moloc, who was carried in a
djrinj; date with his army to resist an invasion of the Portuguese, and
tt;ccd before the battle was over, in which his enemy was defeated
and the young King Sebastian of Portugal perished ;3 Lord Raglan,
rto had lost an arm at Waterloo, and commanded our army in the
Crimea ; and many other gallant ofliccrs, who have not allowed the
orij- loss of a limb in battle to be any impediment to their pro-
fessional career ; but all these instances were of men accidentally
injnred, and with naturally good constitutions : so in them wc have
*e hero with the iron constitution still. It is often said that every
OMwnt General has been a good sleeper. Napoleon xcquired eight
Ions' sleep out of every twenty-four,* but could take it at intervals if
accessary, and whenever he wished. This is a most valuable quality
n a soldier ; the Duke of Wellington also possessed it ; and though
way have done with less than eight hours, it must be sound if a
nun is to endure protracted mental or physical fatigue.

Having considered Use necessity of good health in a military
ranmamkr, let us now turn to the men, and we shall see that not only
itseir sanitary condition of the highest importance to the success

I campaign, but that the epidemics which emanate from a large

I of military sitk and wounded have been known to linger for

j among the civil population in the districts over which they

rbeen dispersed.

Host of the fearful epidemics which extended throughout Europe

toy of Venic*. ■ Shcrcfeddin All.

' VaiM'i Kr.-etuiiem 9/ 'fbrtugal.
Cemtfrndamt J* Pri«<t CtaritriM ova I Emfertur AUxumlrc

tdt 7alityramd, Mlmtim Jc .Vj/V/.W, .tv.
. CCXlv. KO. 1784. Q

The Gentleman's Magazine.

in the Middle Ages had their origin in the gathering of Urge
Eastern armies, and in the lavish waste of human life which charac-
terised the Mongiil and Turkish conquests. "Our Europe."
HTOte Gibbon in the last century, "arc petty skirmishes when com-
pared with the myriads who have fought and fallen on the fie
Asia ; " and as, even now, the Turks decline to bury their dead enc-

preferring rather to suffer from the pestiferous air, we can easily
imagine that this custom was universal among their ancestors. After
the Tartar conquest of Russia in the 13th century. Roman Catlmlii

mriet and merchants, who traversed that country on their way
to Central Asia, have recorded that, more than once, they came on
of whitening dec here there was no a j

ance of an inhabited dwelling or of living humanity ; and when we
remember the entire absence of sanitary precautions which charac-
terise an Eastern army even at the present day, anil look at the foul-
ness of a modern Kalmuc-Tartar or Crimea] dc, we can
understand that the mustering of 80,000. 100,000 of their race,
such as assembled under the banner of Zingis-Klun, Holagau, and
Timur,' must have been fraught with great evil of this description to the
countries which they overran. The Crusaders, in the time of Richanl
Cceur dc lion, first introduced small- pox to Western
is even now a complaint which invariably breaks our, more C
besieged Eastern dry. The Crusaders from Norway and Iceland also
carried back from U»e East the fearful scourge of leprosy, which has
since boon i.scd in those countries In:

l\u«u into Poland and Germany, in consequence of a Mongol
iving laid waste the whole district between the Voty
I m a subsequent year the
loia, which produced a
These savages were accuatonxd to ascen

M, in i4cn ia Tun«i'» anay, .U
■'in. at ■ natter ef 1
•my Rttwtra viB*c» ■»!»»" KiJoouu. TV* old Mwahn-
IW «»M .J •' UlkWt," Uu Vj Ikxi jwjJr. uJ mV«!> ■« iW

mm lap luu. UK laufv cV*w» will b* Uatv mvji
Mnc.mu-s " hr ars "arm »■* Uwa Eatjarc ai
%ttk> thru arid* . tW **»»>. ta» IIBJ laaaV

tW mu nm*«n vyoO ct tatir dbaa, aa.) cmrr a*l 1 _W

1 ii».W% AutKKa t±\. U*e* aUliai anj rrr, %n. .„

W tW Totarv ant annaa aatl yv«c «■»■■ rata. Uulira -aTrtnl to araJi
MiWwtl •alkxUtmiviWaa.if lUrbm Turn,
SaM »»« wmaua u»n« U cusk. Mhl —111 III nf wobk
ap% ^/ %uo4aW taaaw aa4 ko «A<(

War and its Attendant Mah

22-J

.Air i

enemy's shin by outing off tltc right car of each of the dead, and in

■239 they collected 170,000 of these ghastly trophies from the plains

rf Russia alone, and after the battle of Leignitz in 1241, •

defeated the united forces of the Poles, the Silesians, and the ( lrd< r

«f the Teutonic Knights, they filled, with right nil IrODa

Ac tnttle-fi'. «f the huge sacks which they were •ccutomed

tonic 0 the

l«nb of the Danube carried which

•P*CSx! -line Empire and into S

*i been the same malady whi d by

**Ma IX, against tl is in Egypt, in 1248. tween

lot Sultan of Egypt on the one side, and the Tartar Khan of Kipzak,

*°d lit vassal, the Christian King of Armenia, on the other, produced a

"^h 0 ol the plague in Syria, which spread to the north of

. and again attacked a French army under Louis IX., who had

knded at Tunis in 1270, and of which the king and the flower

y perished. At the same time Edward I. had conducted an
Klisli fan lh« Holy Land, and his army imated

■ same plague, which induced him to sign a mice with the
Saracens. This was the hist of the Crusades, not be* ante the
*hi«=h prompted them had vanished, hoi because the plague which
***£ prove treaded by

"<2»tcm chivalry than the Mahometan swi

iead
u*ousjhout Europe, and carried off, it is estimated, at least a qu

population, or 25.ooo.oco people. ' This appears to have begun

w China, where a civil war, ulcd in the expulsion of the

Motjgul d] I the slaughter of a

ssftBor and Monguls; and it was fed by a long war in

il Asia, betwei a iscendnnt 1 in, and the

Solum of the Turkomans. Before the Asiatic countries bordering

nope were annex. rowing strength of

Raswj, tin ncessantlyfl quenos we find

iiul and Muscovy, and
injure* as an embodied

maids, or wood and wati in the stories which

siren* nd Trance. In 1360 the

iiianoplc, and their ravages were the cause of

h spread to France, England, and

g great mortality. In 1453 they captured Cor.

nople, ire titan one league formed against them by the

1 Koiwt to Pope dement VI. »t Avignon, 1352.
Q*

228 The Gentleman's Magazine.

Christian Powers of Europe was deterred G re measures by a

dread of the plague, which was left in ever)- province in which the
Turks had encamped. In 1480 the Turks pent' ■■> Italy,

1 aural terror throughout Europe, .ind the pestilence,
called the Sweating Sickness, which spread over the Continent and
into England in 1485, was the direct result of ir con-

quests, and the horrible slaughter and devastation they carried widi
then— which ma illustrated by the familiar expression that "no

le of grass would pom where a Turkish hoof had trod "—ex-
tended over the Mediterranean till the 17th century, and as far as
Vienna till 1 683 ; and our trade, which was then beginning to be
r.uii the Levant, was a medium for spreading the

- iigendered by tliese wars into England more frequently than

ii their cii :rope liad been confined to Russia and Poland.

There was a most terrible Plague in Russia in 1570, in consequence
of two invasions of the Turks, who d»en owned the Crimea, and who
penetrated on die second occasion with a large army to Moscow.
The invaders set fire to the city, after closing and guarding the gates
to prevent any of the inhabitants from escaping : and the British R<
dent1 wrote home that thirty persons were burned in the beer-cellar
of the English factory alone, the factory itself being completely de-
stroyed, and that although " every means and industry were used
cleanse die river, it could not be freed from the corpses," and he
thought that " 1 00,000 Russians were suffocated, d or

burned." The Turks retired to avoid the winter, driving before them
a ragged crowd of 500,000 Russian men, women, and children of
every rank, collected all along their route. Many of the captives
died of hunger and fatigue before they reached the Crimea, but those
who survived were sold to slave merchants at Kaffa. in.

vasion occurred at a time when Russia was suffering from famin
pestilence was the certain 1 it it docs not appear to have

spread beyond Poland, which was not a commercial coi ,- in

die progress of these epidemic*, a wide peaceful district exhausted

11 ; and on that occasion Poland was not the seat of 3 war :
the] all times liab brought in mi

and our intercourse with t":
• ays carried on by sea.

unknown q the

-jin
and many Uwut-mds of insurgents, thougi. ncd

as being at Moscow, in 1583, by an English ambaasa<: Ute

Jwoiw. Uvncj. 4mb OftcUl Re;

War and its Attendant Maladies. 229

E Queen Elizabeth to that of Ivan IV., having been brought
_l, where it has been a dreaded enemy for centuries ; for
before the time of Peter the Great there was a more brisk trade and
communication between India, Persia, and Russia than between
Creu Britain and Russia. The native fairs and annual pilgrimages
Hindoo sbrincs at Benares have often spread it to all parts of
Saithem Asia ; but in 1819 it had already advanced from India to
Ik Volga, whence the Russian recruits and provision-dealers carried
it to the two belligerent camps, when in the crowded hospitals it
found a fruitful field, and from that point it traversed Europe.

If a war carried on exclusively in IVettcm Europe has never, ex-
cept, perhaps, in the List years of Napoleon's reign, been productive of
epidemics to the same extent as in the E.ist, it \-~ because smaller armies
hire assembled, and in a more salubrious climate; corpses have been
decently interred, not left to be eaten by domestic animals, which have
afterwards become food for man; shorter distances have to be tm-
*erseiL and under more favourable auspices for obtaining food and
supplies, so that the armies have not Suffered from famine as much as
from ktiguc and the enemy, which has often happened in the East ;
»nd 1 hundred years ago Western armies suspended operations in
the severest weather, which is always the most unfavourable for healing
^Cunds, from the difficulty of giving the hospitals .1 proper supply of
fresh air and warmth at the same time ; and without fresh air, wounds
*ifl no* heal, and fever and gangrene are at once generated. War
*»»bo made among civilised and more wealthy populations, and
Innate benevolence, particularly that of the religious orders, stepped
*u to supply the needs which were neglected by the State. Associa-
tes of persons who devote their whole lives to charity and philan-
thropy are unknown except in Christian countries, though here and
tteteac may find a very benevolent and liberal Parscc, Hindoo, or
katnknan, so that the Turkish and Tartar armies were without this
*i to compensate for the shortcomings of their chiefs, who, able to
l*ha- an unlimited number of recruits from the nations they had
"oqucred, made no effort to assist their own wounded, and put those
■fine enemy to death. The French Republic abolished the religious
frders,' and for some time there were no associations in France to
"ke op the charitable duties which they had hitherto fulfilled.
Hence, during the later campaigns of Napoleon, when his armies
t»ta exceeded those of the old Turkish and Tartar conquerors, a
•eje from Eastern history might be read for that of Europe, in the

1 TV Knights of Milt* were originally instituted for the succour of the
•wnded in bwtlc.

230 The Gentleman's Magazine.

barbarous neglect of cither hit own or of the enemy's wounded, the
starvation and even massacre of pri«:> recklessness of life as

regarded his own soldiers, owing to the ease with which he could
press recruits from conquered countries into his H ■', above

all, by the epidemics which were the I consequences of this

mode of making war.

There was still a belief current, at the time of the Crimean
campaign, that spirits were a safeguard a^ pad

\<c owned that the causes which predispose to this disease are
v. that nothing has since been satisfe<
for or against ibis theory, as total abstainers and those accustomed
to take spirit'; regularly, alike GUI victims to it when it
But rally acknowledged that the use of sp

as restoratives, whether by armies engaged in the open
up in close inodorous quarters, as is often the cue for weeks together
when a fortress is besieged, is fruitful in every other kir. «te.

. at Jcllalabad in Afghanistan in i s j the

great siege of Gibraltar, the garrison was cither destitute of alcoholic
liquors, or prohibited from their use ; and in both instances the
health and cheerfulness of the men were renwurkabte, " The COM of
an army is intoxicating liquors," observed an Aroeri surgeon

during the civil war in the United States ; " the spirit ration is the
great source of all this mischief."

A reason fiv rged for serving out spirits is that when

good fu< '.'. .unable, spirits .-.re the most convenient and port-

able substitute, and are cheaper and more easily procured than wine
or beer; but even under these circuro te Dr. Parkes, one

of the first authorities on military hygiene, doubts if they are not
more hurtful than useful. Napoleon constd an

essential part of a ration in i old 0t bad weather, but we have noticed
the large amount of si

neither before nor behind the current British
medical theory of his day. In the army of the Duke of Marlbom
we are told that "the sot and the drunkard were the object
seen ed ideas i'! ich

itly
introduced with thi ml 1 1., and with itn

in the tin age I. Dr. Parkes tell* tnt that the spedi

a ' so frequent among sol.

! cm o|AlhjJmu> ami" -w.1 in Hit

Ciocuiu *ml Arm- uuUa, oemfcrrat Pr. t'achiV* wftom

I nr.uk n alb \m ■|«t»l

v and its Attendant Maladies. 231

r perhaps unknown, on the large scale in the wars of the eighteenth
century. "The disease as vie now sec it," he writes, " is one "l the
legacies which Napoleon left to the world. His system of making war
r mission, rapid movements, the abandonment of the
good old custom of winter quarters, and the intermixture of n ghneotJ
from several nations, seem to have given a to the

disease; and though the tent year* of peace have gi

lessened it, it has prevailed mote or less ever since in the 1 1
Ptuki run. Bavarian, Han< >, Belgian,

Swedish, and Russian armies, an welj as in our own. It has also

the civil population by th<

and is one more heritage with which glorious WAX bos cursed the
nations." The l»ad effect that spirits, even taken in very mod

tre 00 the eyes or the sight is well known,
and thi oay have predisposed the soldiers of Napoleon to an

attack from this malady, wh ill 1 in one of Iks campaigns diss
wiwiic cornpani heaUli of his troops can certainly no) be

quoted in favour of the use of stimulants, though many 1
combined to lower it, and they h id do vine ox brandy at all on the
retreat from Moscow. The Duke of Wellington would have been
unable, like Napoleon, to order a fresh levy ol recruits to fill up gaps
in his ranks whenever they were thinned by disease ; and he pie-
da marked contrast to his adversary in his attention to the
health of his army. In the Peninsula he suggested improved ventila-
I the hospitals, and Luscombc tells us that he never let a day
pan without inquiring from the principal medical officer as to their
sther there had been any appearance of fever
among the men. The success of that campaign is too well known
ed a description of it here, although the mean daily numbi t ol
sick v bdOW twelve per cent., except for a short time in the

lines of 'l dras, when it fell to nine or ten. Sometimes it

:teen, twenty, or twenty- live per I FergUSSOn, the

old Peninsula surge' 0 think that this was caused principally

by the spirit ration, and they must have been in many instance
cases, to judge by the small propi rtlOO of deaths. At any rate, the
medical aid the i, and the vigilance and forethought ol the

cornrn >m being at any time a

check on his operations in that v

small armies nidi which Alexander the Great accomplished
■ believed to ha
il in the campaign on the Oxus, which was so far a failur.
any allusion to it in nia was threatened with the punishment

232

The Gentleman's Magazine.

of death ; and where probably the sol< red from the ci

of drought in aimm W in winter, which is s::ll th

:ulty in campaigning in that coun U were

! Of k European Vsiatic barl';m>in, and in

their | i eat much resembled our own in

India. Qi that he frequendyd iping-

ground, apparently H a mode of \ - the health of I

OH prevailed, which wem to have
l>ccn iily lust in Europe, and only revived during the last

quarter of this century. The Pncfcctus-Castrorutu, an officer of
rank in the Roman army, looked after the sick and provided
nired by the surgeons. Both Livyan
:kers used to visit •
ore well taken care of; and
wtites that great attention 10

'ntcr supplied to the troops, to the . >f the ten:

i| made of hides, and never pitched in ma
ground, or in places too much exposed to the summer heat.-,
also to the warmth of the men in winter, sufficient firewood and
warm clothing lieing always provided. It was the duty of the
Roman officers to see that the meals were regular, that the provisions
were good, and that salt, light wine, and vinegar were supplied by
the commissariat, the last being used, apparently, instead of vege-
tables, to keep off scurvy. They were abo kept in constant exercise,
and frequently changed their camping-ground. Yet with the Romans,
as with the Creeks, the proportion of the wounded was so small
compared to our modern battles, and the javelin and hand-to-hand
fighting inflicted such simple wounds compared to our fire-arms, that
the wounded can hardly hate been aa encumbrance to an advancing
force, or a source of danger to one encamped, and the pra. i
giving no quarter relieved the victors of the charge of wounded
enemks. We never hear of spirits being used in the Roman
^torativc*. It may l< still an open question whctln
are beoeftcial or not. administered in small doacs as a precaution m
i imp. KttriUKS.cn, or malana-hauntrd dssmcts. The Rut-
« do not now deal them out aa a regular ration to their armies
■•at they were ordered to be saved out twice
• h»-n tkar armies entered the Pasobian I^Jmapsdibc-.
Sad swaVsvtl gmdy turn chosen and typhoid
^Hptu* nauijintai in these fwnx vorxc fact and
•UVeh to ccsaav The Roasaneer.
tbc Vracr Dantsbe as fc astre kg a penal

and its Attendant Maladies.

=33

infect, ji wa*. their Sibet v Bay, and th«jf WOT particularly

unfortunate in their wars aga barbarians of those parts, so

ptrhaps no foreign army could avoid suffering to some degree ; but

^ Russian spirit ration if it was regularly COZrti]

•Moot, as intended, keep off typhoid fever, though this complaint

doc« no* seem to have made its appearance among the troops to any

*wat extent till the wounded began to increase upon them, and till

tn*y had massed companies in unhealthy quarters, only In

ty the Turks.' One division of the aim] Sd mudl VU

*ho forsom tc Of the

roads, in consequence of I port of bread

OT biscu; ible that warm clothing, Iter, and

* sufficient supply of I or vege-

fhlc f0)Mi; wouU be more beneficial than ipi ranting on* the

■^ladies common to that district, and the diet of the natives is
Indian com, milk, and Slewed plums, with little or DO meat.7 In
'ft* rice and .' mall amount of brandy, or in the last country

"* sulwtitute of wine or beer, appears in the military dietary ; but
j"61 peace rate of mortality is higher in the Austrian army than even
ian, and Eu ban in the German. In the Austrian

. the meat ration is larger than with the last two, but there is

1 Want of vegetables. Howard »"i> "i npiiiion that "herbs sad

tatta will preserve our health, ami mi. tain nature far beyond the

**»»« (bod," and the world is gradually COO ad to the;

■ ■ c that, while the i tsi is not absolutely

"fcasisary for the maintenance of perfect health in a wan .the

nrM, in some form or other, undoubtedly is necessary in all climates.

In the case of an active army, fresh vegetables, or fresh bread, is

•ften most difficult to procure ; and biscuits and preserved vegetables

*r« dm equally efficacious: else there can be little doubt that in the

r°focmou* atmosphere of a closely besieged city like Sebastnpol,

ferinjtani !,or even Paris, orinado sery

fcked camp in an ii ius district, the ill-fed tainted meat which

hire, troops i-- i.ir lets wholesome than good

bread and fmit. Die conviction of so great an

ig to tbe constant rain or mow, the RuSMoni al JmBMSlTH

•4oiiu«m), arkes call*

*«r ">J tliffieoll >A ventilation. "Inc

"ikjum onttastly mod idem in mmrwigni in

•WW on the Danube. Tney have, licm-erer, frequently suffered from typhus,"—

■I liygitn*.

bal colTee is an antidote to malarious air. It la

"■*• beverage of the 1 • : of the Russians, who dtinY lea.

234

The Gentleman s Magazine.

authority on this subject as Howard ' deserve* more attention t
long received ; and the rules he bid down for regulating the diet of
prUoncrs when deprived of exercise in close, unwholesome quarte**.
ap|)ly in many instances to the strong, healthy nun just struck down
in liaitlc, and removed to the crowded hospital.

The famous pea-sausage obtained much credit during theFnnco-
n War, and is composed of pork or beef, lard, pea-flour, and
bread ; but the men grow disgusted with it if used too long e
sivcly. The Russians tried a sausage of the same kind in some 0/
their long marches in Central Asia, but found a greater proportion of
vegetable and bread than the Germans used was required to keep
their men in good health ; yet the commonly-supposed voracious
German has less meat than the French soldier or the Austrian,
while all three (in the course of a week) hive more than the Russia*
and less than the British, but the Russian has the largest ration 0/
bread. Butter, buckwheat, and pepper, herbs (possibly for makin{
tea), and I small portion of onion are ingredients in the Russian
dietary, which are not found in those of other nations ; but i6ocbj»
in the year are fast-days in Russia, when the soldier has neither melt
nor butter served out to him, but in their place 5 oz. of lard aid
5 or., of vegetable oil. Cabbage soup or gruel is also used on the Btt-
days, made of some of the above ingredient, and an additional potties
of peas and oats. On the march, biscuit is substituted for bread ;uA
weak brandy is added twice a week in 5-0/.. rations during continued
marching or campaigning in a malarious district. With all the other
Continental armies wine is given, and brandy or beer in time ofWJ
and with the Germans the quantity of meat is increased by three
ounces per day when marching. The French soldier, like the KafUafet
buys vegetables and extras from his pay, and in time of peace recent*
only fuel, meat, and bread from the government. A diet of bre»A
milk or coffee, and olives, makes the Turkish porters at Cobs**
tinoplc some of the most muscular men in the world ; but die

' The great philanthropist, u is well known, wis a vegetarian ttiauctf ; h* *
bi* time cholera had not yet entered Western Europe, and it is now mppoceJif
some Out among its predisposing causes is long abstinence from anient] SmL 1
Russia there uied to be a long nutumn last, which was abolished by l*«. *
account of the annual visitation from cholera when it had lasted a week <■* I"*
This hlca may, hosnmr, prove eventually to be an error. Great fatigor, cerntfji
predisposes lo It, and, doubtless, any animal food in a tainted or high caoliu*
One of the newspaper corrcsponoV.ii ■ In Bulgaria, last year, declared that ere**
the Emperor's table the meat was always tainted, and this is a very eoavmoa «**"
fence in all hot-weather campaigns, under which conditions it must be ■*
Injurious to men camping in a malarious district, or in the Stale of the atawphd
in which cholera prevails.

War ana its Attendant Maladies. 235

'arhsb array is very liable to epidemics, though the sobriety of the
*ak ad file1 we well known. However, this liability to epidemics
fcay be easily accounted for by the want of sanitary precautions
£**naeristic of Eastern armies.

There is no doubt that a well-fed, healthy man is more able to
bear up against the fatigues of a campaign than one already tried by
hand Sting and fa it clothing or shelter, if cither conditions arc

'hcHroc, which is one reason more for paying the greatest attention
to the diet and general health of the army in a time of peace. It was
(feared that the British officers of the regiments of the Guards in the
Criacj supported the cold and hardships fully as well as, if not better
thu. the privates of the line, and in all armies this has generally been
4e case. Our wealth and our mechanical superiority have also put
r armies in possession of very much better weapons than our ad-
, particularly when we have been opposed to the Russians,-'
: Abyssinians, Chinese, and Ashantcc. Our loss in killed and
■. consequently been very much less than what we have
t able to inflict upon our opponents. But we cannot always ex-
5 this to be our fate, now that communication is so much easier and
: rapid than before steamers and railways, and now that
improvement in cannon and firearms is at once known to
war offices in Europe, and steps taken to adopt it. Even
s, behindhand as they have ever been in the quality of
uns, must have learned by their tremendous losses at
1 that ill-armed courage is of less avail in battle than a long-
able- barrelled breech-loader, uudcr the protection of an
In future wars we must therefore look for a larger num.
wounded, and a consequent increase of the sickness com-
f attendant upon it. The Crimea was not an exception to the
•immunity than the armies of foreign Powers which we have
vcti from the scourge accompanying war ; for great as
r loss there by sickness, that of our enemy, and of our allies,
1 French and Turks, was far greater, though it is true that the pre-
1 causes of that mortality were so thoroughly sifted that it is
kdy they should exist with as again to the same extent. Still,
Vj future war with a European nation, .1 far more ample provision
»c sick and wounded will have to be made than we have ever
► supplied to our armies, if the campaign is to come to a rapid

1 D». Parke* *»y* that an army without pay It * healthy nimy, for it cannot
nimbut, which spplirt to the Turks.

1 Tfce Turin in the mfcMIe «jes poueued cannon and gunpowder long before
i known to the Ru

■fore

236 The GentUmaris Magazine.

and successful termination. Cholera alone appears to be an evil that
it is impossible to forestall ; for robust health, temper . xufli.

cicnt shelter, and ample food seem to be no safeguard against it*
ravages in an Eastern campaign. Crowding, over-fatigue, bad iratcr,
and unwholesome food, doubtless increase it, and in the n»::
space we were more liberal in the Crimean campaign, and suffered less,
than the French, who packed just double the number of men that
we did in the transports we lent to them for the voyage from
seilles to Gallipolli, and also in the hospitals. Scurvy' in some form
or other has shown itself in all campaigns in all countries during the
present and last centuries, and greatly complicates other maladies,
or the cure of wounds; but thii might probably be much reduced if
the same precautions were taken with the army as with the fleet, and
an ample supply of limejuice provided when there was I i V •
be a lack a >its or vegetables. The fatigue, excitement, con-

on of preserved or salt meat, and general want of variety
of food, with close quarters, and a debilitated physical condition,
all conduce to scurvy in a time of war; but the danger and
its remedy once recognised, it may entirely cease to be a difficulty;
for with our large pecuniary means for 1

facilities of transport, which, wherever they may 1*, will always be
afforded by our ]>ortablc railways and our Meet, there need nc»er be
an ill-timed economy displayed in procuring BO] thing to the

health of our troops; for the homely proverb, " Penny iri
foolish," applies most especially to the medical and commissariat
supplies during a campaign.

The following table gives a comparison of the British lo« anil
that of the enemy in some of our principal battles— as nearly as his
been ascertained : —

Blenheim (Aug. 3. 17'

English and Genmni 1 4,000 kilted. 7,000 wounded, chiefly Gcxroasa.

French: 13,000 BOH.

Cullodcn (April 16. 17461—

Knglith : **> killed and wounded.

2, 500 killed (probably no «i*utor gircn).
DcUlncen (J«|y 16, 17

English, including HanorerUni and Hc**iani : 2,300.

French : 5,000.

' A aaili* c«i*i»cd eomUntly to pure tea nir U under mure faviv-raliU
lions for neaping an epidemic than a soldier on a camruign. Vet, wlih'
vtgotaiitet uf tunc 'nice, it is found that Kurry will alwayi in time attack a sUp1*

1 cucntcnct a 1 mutant <Uct ot tol or
isnalti. Ml water, and ill < ventilated »lccplng-«i«anen.

War and its Attendant Maladm. 237

Hn»(J»Jr*7-*8,lSo9>-

Fjgbh and Spanioidt : 777 killed, 4,00a wouncldl and missing.

trench : 10,000.
Ubmo, 4c. tjmly », rSr;|-

Eq0bh asd Spaniards : 1,990 killed, 3,600 wounded and missing.

F.tach: 8.000 killed, 7,14a prisoners.
<Mb*IToiImic (April, 1S14)-

FjjUh and Spaniard" : 071 killed. 3.SOO wounded and milling.

F«uh: 10,000.
Mnot JA. 10, 1&46)—

1,338 killed and wounded.

SMli: 10,000.
**A»aodQa»trc Bias (June 17-1S. 1S15)—

Haglt^ : 1,829 killed, 5,000 wounded.

Hircwun*. Belgians, 6rc., and Prussian's : lO.lSo killi-d ud w.mn.lciJ.

Fsoch : 45,000 k . Hlng, or lied 10 th*b 0W» home*.

,t so, 1854)-

anisi : 1,002 killed and wounded.

Froci: 560. (They look leu port in the tattle.)

E***» : S-7*>9 to**- (Official statement, but thought to be more.)
***W (Oct. 25. 1S54)—

Frtach, English, and Turks : 600 killed and wounded.

Koun : 6*7.

""wr r,i)—

English: 2,573 killed and wounded.

French : i.Soo killed and wonnded. |l'l« ■>■ tool, linlc pari in the battle.)

Koauaas ; 11,959 killed, wounded, an, I prbOMH.

F. R. GRAHAM E.

238

The Gentleman s Magazine.

PRINCE NAPOLEON.

NOW that the weapon of a naked savage has struck down in
nameless skirmish the last of the eWcr branch <>f the Bonapartcs
and the first of the race who mi fell upon a field of battle, men's
eyes nrc not unnaturally turned again upon one *rho often
manded then naze before, but who seemed of late da)
passed from their notice for ever, the man whom strange i
placed at the head of the Napoleon family. It seem
with the pitiless irony of fate which has always pursued the Bo
dynasty — a fete as stern as the fabled destiny of the IVloptds— i
the death of 1'rince Louis Napoleon should place whatever
of succession at the feet of the man whom neither he nor his
loved overmuch, at the feet of the Esau or rather the Ishmael of tl
House, Prince Napoleon Joseph Charles Paul Bonaparte (JiwtntV
letter known as Prince Napoleon, better known still in the argil of
ry as Plon-Plon. Prince Napoleon is the son of that somc«lnt
feather-headed King of Westphalia who is chiefly conspicuous for
his marriage with Miss Patcrson of Baltimore— she who died W
the other day— and for his exclamation at the battle of Waterloo:
" Brother, here should perish all who bear the name of Bonaparte ! ' *
heroic exclamation which did not prevent him t aping &©•

the field and living till i860. Westphalia Jerome was the younjt*
brother of the first Napoleon ; but as the great Na[>oleon did »hit he
liked with the ion, and set aside his other brothers when ihef

displeased him, the year 1853 saw his son the hcir-presnnuwe w
lbc Imperial Crown. The birth of the poor lad who died kst J"*
in Zululand took away from him the succession to a great and iff*" 1
rcntly firmly established empire : bis death has given him the hew"
ship of a fallen house, and put him nominally in command of 1
powerless party.

Prince Napoleon is one of the stran. ml

His career Has been one long ridd lained as yet. No mini

Europe has been more misunderstood, and few have been more dif
liked ; no man had better chances of success than he, and no ■*
ever made less use of his chances. To-day finds him as ranch 1

Prime Napoleon. 239

pn4e *lik. and his enemies a* he was thirty years ago

«*«l he first swore allegiance to ;•■ French Republic. Me has been

dttct.' v, itty Critic u ■ CtMftT out of place, lint the epigram

i have been much truer v ■■ ribed him as an unemployed

Antony. The marvellous cnpability for doing the right thing at the

•fcht tune which characterised Caw never was the property of Prince

Napoleon. He lias rather been conspicuous all his life for doing the

njht tiling at the wrong moment. And now, close to his sixtieth

yrar. he, the strangest evolution of the race Bonaparte, remains just

*»ere he was when he started, having succeeded in convincing the

*t»rl<J first that he was a fool, then that he was a man of genius,

•t!. i.ing any success ti 1 nil duly ur his intellect.

Anaong the many witty and bitter tilings that Prince Napoleon has said

*hout the inembi: jwn family, one Mjil nts espedil

^rrxacrubrancc— his epigrammatic observation that his cousin the

peror took in the world tti when he made the world

that he was an idiot ; and secondly, when he made it

he was a statesman. The epigram would apply almost as well

10 in author as to its object.

This is his portrait, drawn by the hand of a bitter enemy : —
l l. is of a tall form, but with his neck linking between blfl
*»osjlderi : his waist is fast d re the irruption ot

eo»r- his gait is heavy and n t; he is short-sighted,

«r>«4 his glance is an oblique one. His general a] :. -minds

one whom MM. Thiers ami Marco
. Troplong and Havin, and likewise M. Prudhommc,
ind Homme,' but it reminds you still more of Otho or
11, and somewhat also of the common mask of Pun b." Such
'cicriptioti to real idea of the appearance of the man

er to be inferred from a study of his face.
it gave anothei and a truer trie* of his
i*tuii was it, so like that it

•wild have passed in the eye : ol most spectators as a picture of the
oral. A 1 ntive observer would have assumed ft

■ r Leipzig or Waterloo,
ttous face a look of sullen discon-
tent that did not often belong to the features of
partes. It w fepoleon without suc-

who had not found his chance, who had M
ngo. It waa the face of a Napoleon con
Strang Napoleon. So like

cut Napoleon lit little story which I once

240 Tlu Getitlcntan's Magazine.

remember reading n -old how one of the

survivors of Napoleon's Old Guard who returned to hi* | home

after Waterloo always refused to bl "cror was dead,

Wd insisted that In.- would return one to trance her

>ry. The story went on to tell that years after it so chanced
iolcon had for some reason to go thro'i,. wn at

of the towDspe 10 play off a jest upon the

old soldier, tame to liim and told him that his dream had come true,
that the Km]«ror had indeed returned, and was at that 1 1 .ssing

through the principal street. Wild with excitement, the veteran
rushed off to the spot where the Imperial escort was slowly n
its way through the shouting > rowd. The glare of torches shone
upon the soldiers and upon a bareheaded man looking out of a car-
riage window, a man face of the conqueror of Austcrliu.
The old soldier ild ay of deli: e 1'Kmpcreur ' " and
fell down (abating, When they came to raise him mad he was
dead : he had died happy in tin: belief that he had once again looked
upon the bet Of his Did commami

It v, without interest to glan !v over this career,

and see what can be made of it Pi poieefl was \xirn in 182J,

at Trieste, and received a military education at the royal ml
academy of Ludvigsburg, where he signalised himself by 1
few quarrels with his comrades. In 1845 he and his father were
allowed by Ixmis- I'hilippc to return 1 pJtC of '.i

of banishment against all ions, Thi a sent

him to the Assembly as the deputy for Corsica, and he declared him-
self everywhere as a devoted republican, winning for himsel
titles of "Prince Rouge" and "Prince de la Montague," although
thai many of the made wliat I cannot

but > unsider the mistake of not believing ii

he was sincere enough in his republ hope

that his cousin would keep true to his word, ''coo's

character there seems to be a fatal slugg>

to say, " I luve done my best to shape the course < 1 1ml if

they won't take the course I wnsh, they D way."

nforay of the .nd abet:

but it was assumed by tl

.1 tlut he erately helped to l>ctray

that the Red l'rince came to him on the night ol I November,

1851, and placed before il the

threat meant no le- i-.tliate

Prince Napokon. 241

■president by the order and
findt, headed ><iers the Had

to plan been adopted and how

nschof the fir. been avoi

ncewithot tat and its Sedan se towto

Bwginc, but such a thing night-havc-

beenj I for the mo-i uity. Victor Hugo

plan on the ground that one must not be illegal to prc-

•. ; and the Prince, feeling doubtless that be had done

(*OU^re(rred,eontentto]etthtngBtaketheircourse,and hut-

«er of with them. Inthecourscoftli.it

*m mm nation, die knowledge of which now is Prim e

Mapegleon from so much, he m cpeech which show

■8*1* «m bit appreciation of the ritaadon iuse,and how true

his view tv. "I bear the name of Bonaparte," he said,

"'•'it 1 i.i-.^r i| without fanatici 1 a Bonaparte, but not a

Borvanartist. I respect the name, but I can judge it. It bear* already

""^ aain, that of the r8tli Brun 1 ootto endure another?

"*« old Main has disappeared in glory. Aiwerlit/ eclipsea Biunial

"■ 1 m k tiius. The people have k much ad-

ed him that they have forgiven him. This glory of Napoleon's

** sin second would kill it. 1 do not wnth this.

it the second: I would hinder it-"

'I^cttchI I'' ranee by teach.; ror had inherited

■ oleonii name, a c nand was

pv iitoi,. He went ouc to thi teat of war, stayed

» few moniii orprise oi returned

nsiblc re:i mies

>t it was In the great

lantry
Ircadcd thi it he was

I foi 11". er the

cowardice there on my side .Mr. King-

to be a good judge of a man1
qualities as any of 1 s assailants who entin

him from this unlucky charge, "I may say," states the hist
of the Crimean
to ua 1 nabled me to infer tl a man

ittcr of personal courage 1 1
ens, I olcoo that he

242 The Gmtlematis Magazitu.

so ingloric 1 the general who deserted ; still more

onlacky that the scheming of his Imperial cousin during the Julian war
sent him down with a command into Tuscan. .vavc,

of the war, ever reached, and where he I from

name of '• the Immortal," the man that docs not die.
Ni it! ling clings so surely about a great a charge whir!

It 01 impossible to disprove, and this charge of cowardice has

about Prince Napoleon's name, never probably to be effaced

minds of most persons. Som» . however, may be

I of t!i.: \. due of sweeping charges like t> rccol-

it< brought the sa: e of cow.'.

t Napoleon, and that he found plenty of people ready

to bi

Up I ttd mrbl long after, Europe had made itsmind

gardtothe -ins Bonaparte. Louis Napoleon, the

Emperor, v m of genius, subtle as the Sphinx, the master-mind,

:\clli and Richelieu rolled into one. in fact,
Ul ind brain Ol Coi Prince Napoleon was

the dull incapab ' the helpless, hopeless, degenerate bearer

of a mighty U the angry epithets which poor Claud-,

notte in his despair asb hii mother if he deserves were hurled most
ie opinion upon Plon-Plon or Craint-PIomh, ascertain
I to style him. In one thing alone did p
icllcncc. Public opinion allowed that he
■ 1 in profligacy. All the cm
and the vim lent tongue of Cicero showered up

credit of Prince Napoleon. Not Trimak c any

of the infamous Athenians whose sins arc gibbeted in |]
i boast a more repulsive repute'
ime. For thi» reason In
Primal CI 1 a deep and sincere feeling », and

irtoon, which represented tl

ing girl an
uncle ted the feeling at the time of nine person

often. Undoubtedly the union could K8J
turned 0

he indiroy

How Cm :l>r i ■

• A the world .

of our>
his stupidity ma to I

Prime Napoleon.

243

: ;,-. took the world very
much by surprise If some an IOWU

for year* suddenly leaped in1 lit ;k the gra

tragic actor of his time, the effect could not be more startling, more
bitarrr, than the revolution which converted the Clotcn of the Palais.
Royal into one of France's greatest orators, the pea of Vergniaud
and Bcnver. Never probal/. had

m earned so unenviable a fame for i» it off

ao suddenly, as suddenly a-, the matador llings off I li

me for bin bo face t/ (<•'.<. The

called
a 1 unphlei tod .1 challenge. The
I the pamphlet of BgtUUk Pelit-fiis and declined his
:cj rather, it was declined for bun by the Emperor. The old
..is "f < in d, but all English politicians

. the quarrels of h
houses were not to be settled by the weapons which si

Is of the C [Ui a I '■" p 1

. now somewhat forgotten pamphlet which, however, den nn •
be remembered as a manly d the King of the

cades — described the chat.' 1 of the Bonapaiti race with

a bilti iicss whic:h must have been strangely unpalatable to

its Im[>cn.il head : —

nd il t'agil Her, leur parole

I ■ :. 1. 1 iace, de toutcs les promevsc- i i lea

1 ou pouvi
>."
Fro > DOC Napoleon before tlie eyes

rope was changed He was now pointed out as the subtle
schemer, the man of vast ambition ami determined wilL The cap and
verc taken nd he was inv-. . the cloak, the

if the Conventional stage < ■
His house been 1 oiinentain

Out finding

who 1... I matk moui a at Plon-Plon tot .1 fool

igerly wh >n had in the matter. He

was now set on diploma i< U over the

il ambassador for tin Empire
c»cry» •■• 11 « little doubt that I

. and his power of a] 1 aluea

e made his assistance of great service to Napoleon
; olcon the Third had seen fit to profit by it more
xa

mask,

244

The Gentleman's Magazine.

It is true that Prince Napoleon's political judgment generally led
him to different Conclusion* from those evolved from the Tuileriw,
and it must be admitted that his opinions generally ran counter to
those of the majority upon most great questions ; but events have
almost invariably justified Prince Napoleon, and showed th
Imperial cousin would have done wiser in listening to his single
than to any clamour of public opinion. When Prince Napoleon
went over to America during the civil war, to judge the question on
its native ground, hearing the cause discussed in New York silor*
in reunions of Boston abolitionists, and in the not altogether impartial
■imosphae of General Beauregard's tent, he had the sense to see
that the North was sure to win in the end ; and he saw this at a time
when tin linperor was moving heaven ami earth to indn.
to Bid him in supporting by arms the cause of the S< ■ 'averjr.

Prince Napoleon was also strongly opposed to the Mexican inter-
vention. He knew the temper of the American people too well to
that they would suffer Napoleon to carry out his deafly
cherished infringement <>f what has come to be called the Mums
doctrine, but which is really the doctrine suggested to and impresses
upon President Munro by George Canning. The sequel of th*
most disastrous undertaking thoroughly justified his views. Upon
all the great European questions, too, he showed a shrewd asd
foreseeing mind. He believed in Italy, he supported the cameo*
Poland, he foresaw the downfall of Austria, and we have it oo his
own authority that he strongly objected to the action of the Frcaca
Government with regard to Rome, and attributed to I :he re-

sult of the war with Prussia. Moreover, he was a free-trader Icing before J
the Emperor could be induced to believe that the doctrine in'
eesentisl law of political economy. It may be asked, then, why a !
who showed such capacity for statesmanship as to foresee the I
of all the great political crises during his time, should yet have i
mkH little honour for his prophecies, not only in his own counUy I
everywhere else ? The truth doubtless is thai Prince Nape:
acter i* marred not only by his l»ad temper and his proverbially I
tongue, which make it impossible or next to -lefor hiral

on with anyone or for anyone to get on with him— faults -■■
him to Bint] Dp the Algerian administration, and brought html
France from so many important missions— but by a worse de/'
than either of these, a fatal want of energy.
patien< •:• ■ d essential to true success, and hi is disposed, 1

people dei line to sec things as he sees them, to ^ dijf

and let them learn by experience the wisdom of councils he bad

Prince Napoleon.

245

asawlf the energy to do battle for. There ll in him a great deal of
*t nature of Byron's Sardanapalus, who, while having no small share
of the stuff that heroes arc made of, fritters away his life in purposeless
unction and aimless pleasures. In aimless pleasures, indeed, a good
deal of Prince Napoleon's life has been passed Witness his pur-
POkIcsj wanderings ii hi -ill OtO the world, wanderings which

Bade wit* inquire if the prince was qualifying to be a teacher of
pep j pected reverie to the Napoleon 1

Witness too hi- ir to live the lift of a Roman in modem

has. Hence the villa Dtomede, which most visitors to Perls have
wen, and where, according to rumour, til ian walls saw scenes

Jtoaan enough to have satisfied the taste ol the Artittr I

■•.'. dwelling was not a success. The Prince attempted
tabs after the Roman fashion, and they made the house too damp
in; and gradually he got tired of his toy and of playing
at being a Roman, and the villa Diomcdc was abandoned. Those
»ho .uw the Palais-Royal when it was Prince Napoleon's might
**• hare wondered why a man with such a house should want to
be anything better than a Bonaparte prince in an Orlcanist palace.
To do justice to the Prince, the 1 owed that its temporary

°*aer «ns a man of refined taste and high culture both in art and
tetn I quote an account of the Palais-Royal written while the
Bcoapwte dynasty still swayed the fortunes of Prance : —

.dais- Royal is one of the most tasteful and elegant abodes

Woapng to a European prince. The stranger in I'atis who is

fctiirutc enough to obtain admission to it— and, indeed, ■dmiawinfi

» et\. I be sadly wanting in taste if he does not

nhairc the treasures of .-in and vtrtu whii h are laid up there, and

the easy, graceful manner of their arrangement. Nothing of the

abm- place is breathed there ; no rules, no conditions, BO Wftj

dogging lackeys or sentinels make the visitor uncomfortable. Once

admitted, the stranger goes where he will, and admin r.incs

that he pleases. Ii sitics and relics, medal

Balnea, bronres and stones, from every land in which history or

romance takes any interest ; he gazes on the latest artistic successes —

Dorc'a magi Oiadows, (Jerome's audacious nudities;

itices

or sensa-

that every i talking of, the play

1 novel, R< ' 'line,

ic'a frcOtcat critii is impressed everywhere with the

conviction thai he is in the house of a man of high culture and

246 The Gentleman's Magaz;

intellect, who with the progress of the world in art».

and letter*. •ics."

icf i>criod Prince Napoleon was the acknowl
hero of the hour, surprising everyone by 1 -is a statesman,

by his charm as .1 cultivated ; -nan of the world.

u a man of fortune. Then came the 1 \; actio

speech, the sound of which, it may not unfairly tic ■•
Europe and all the civilised world. The Emperor was away
Algeria, and in his absence Prince Napoleon was 1 '.ookedK

upon as the representative of the Empire and the Imperial prim It
What, then, was the surprise of F.uro|>« to hear the Pi I "^B

Austria, and all that Austrian policy repre '■ the irnpas^na

atoned oratory <>t' which he bad proved himself already soco

He must have known that this audacity could li-

the sanction nf the Emperor, and it did not. The Emperor rcptaci

the fiery utterances of his
lieutenant, and immedLv -.ed all hisorli-

mperor. From thai time he npfuomm

inactivity of hi existence before 1S61. Up to that year he )»
been the latlj I: of everybody ; btit he went back

a wonder and Op ith the memory of a brief andf

odid celeb ul him. Not unlike m^

been nil career >0 far, For years unseen and unknown, then for"
one resplendent season seen nnd known of all tl ■
and then again unseen and unknown. Whatever has be

pontheanai ;>ceca,

his public life has been ibitJot-.

to him. The fall o!
no prominence, and he took the Republic t

mcrly accepted the amf
be National A > aillcs,

and I of oratory, only proved to the ]»

that he was really a capable debater. Where Lcdru Rolli
succeeded. It is by no means cerl

led jet, or that he is destined to pass into

Ics, like tli. " The Man in die [no Mas*,*

and such otter enigmatical n

content with ha' the world

genius, with the capacity for

aloof (rot Isaeai

'Ay to the

Print* Napoleon.

247

•ttointo the fight, clears everybody before him, and returns
to his silent solitary attitude. This is just the part which Princ
Xipoleon has played in the game of politics.
Some slight solution of the enigma of the Prince's life a perhaps
bond in the following lines, written by him in the AV.-v.
iaxifttnUs a few years back: —

"I hare always had for the Emperor, my cousin. .: ihOTOUj h
dwecion, of which I think I have given him lufficienl proofs by the
bnkness of my conduct, even by the very opposition I have shorn
*Banr acts of his govt mmen -;i thanklesa rule, which rarely
o»fers power and tafluei I which exposes iis supporter to

(toy kind of calumny. I found my only satisfaction in the send
■cot of duty accomplished. My personal rilt, sometimes effaced,
wartimes preponderating, has always had the same aim— the gn
tewof France, to be obtained by the alliance of the NopoteonS with
tmocnuic ideas."

Prince Napoleon has always been persistently disbelieved ; it
«ttr seems to have entered into the minds of his enemies that be
«nU possibly speak the truth. Yet the course of his life has been
JBwallv in accordance with his own statements, and his declaration,
tot the aim of his life has ever been the greatness of France, to be
flkaned by the union of Bonapartism and democracy, has never been
hfitd by any action of his career. Indeed, it is to this Eaiin

ha impossible combination that his unsuccesa might very fairly be
■sinned. His Bonapartism has injured him with the democrats, his
fcnoency with the Bonapartes. The result has been that want of
Jo«ct and influence over which his deeply disappointed ambition
*u compelled to utter one cry in the confession of faith we have
JMfed

JUSTIN HU5JTI.V M'CARTHV.

248

The Gentleman's Magazine.

TABLE TALK.

In that England receives fro >rs

triliuu- 10 v.-irm and gTaccful as '■■ Mr.

in Winter, the New York poet and j>

ntod from the ! from

ingtonlxvii us as motto on the title-page,

■ stand eight lines selected from Joh-i
in " Richard II." >—

of kni|p. i:
I Ml 1 'lit »c*t at i

TIim fimrc**, l>uil: l.y S'»iuic fur hcnelf ;
ii precious ilonc set in the silver tea ;

:, this BUth , tiut Kim

irltl.

That these verses express the writer's feelings is shown throughout
a volume that few 1

the preface Mr. Winter speaks of meeting with great and " -
-.-.*. In oil clex:ripiion : he declares til

C saw the distant and dim coast of Britain lie felt, with a E
Of loneliness, that he was a stronger ; > that

t he behel'l it through a mist of teai lie

parted from many ! friends, from many of the gent''

and from a land hen< lcar I

him " England," he declares, " i

sec i ot only is greener

very roses arc redder, Everything, in ■• > h»

been enchantment. Our very climate extort 'Odon

is a dream of de lane*,

people are approved with p
this tribute for more than one reason. blc, doabt-

10 '.'lie man ; that while 0
ill barrel;

den Mr. Winter must have L

a nation I

TabU Talk, 249

experiences at times some hard rubs, to find so favourable a
pissed upon things English, there is comfort in the thought
tint this interchange of kindnesses between England and America
awakens feelings the beneficial influence of which, as regards future
relations between the two niutries, cannot easily be over-estimated.
The tardier whose ject is lo produce " comic copy " is a

" familiar nuisance " and a grievance also. It is as true of nations as
'i individuals that a sneer is almost as unpleasant to bear ax a blow.
: sure, even, that "American Notes," clever as these wen:,
m nut do more to estrange, fur ■ tune, the two commies than the
Aiibama difficulty.

SOME amusing stories have been spread abroad of mistakes which
have been made in the interpretation of passages in the plays
performed by the French actors at the Gaiety. Of these, doubtless,
tt« a few arc apocryphal, and all might fairly be matched by mistakes
•hkh French writers have made in discussing the criticisms of the
English press on the actors and the acting. By one of those strange
k-aces which occur in the experience of all of us (insomuch that
•key arc not in reality strange at all, though they seem so) it so hap-
Praed that, as I was thinking of certain odd mistakes made on both
■Jet, J was turning over the pages of an old French magazine, searching
fr* paper in no way relating to such mistakes, when I lighted on the
Storing amusing passage. It appears (but, my copy of the magazine
*6m incomplete, I was unable to refer to the original query) that
Wneonc had inquired of the editor what might be the meaning of
the three words " Eta Beta l'i " in the well-known story of Hogarth's
*»nic letter, and the editor had been unable to explain. But a
professor, who, being resident in England, had better means
"f oplaining the mystery, took pity on the editor and his readers,
"& supplied the interpretation. The editor thus presents the
*aer:-

• Invitation d'IIogartk.
Ulpcfctteur ncn» enroic • ! la traduction Htteralc de troiu mot*

"Wta (THojarth (f.l Stl.1 J'V [it;]) tjuc noun avion, iiiSitr di: traduirc :

• • . . . thunday next, to Jit (»itgki» nodOTMi <•■.■•') •'
. . ftwii prochain, pour manger un

* W*e»Utioc de bttfiUak), PY (anglais modeme, /iV).
tttf

•* frfttcut fie (pjtc au tiiftocW) c*t encore aujourd'hui un dc» met* favori* de*

^*r all, however, if we consider that the French way of pro-
toeing the names of the three Greek letters, Eta, Beta, and l'i,

250 T/te Gentkmaris Magazine.

would not sound in the least like the English words " Bal
pie," we cannot much wonder at the joke (a mild one in any cue,
and somewhat mouldy withal even in Hogarth's time) being misled.
But thai : Tofcssor should have evolved tl*c above in

pretatior., with its unauthor; out of the

<>i his moral consciousness, is an excellent joke in its way.

SLICING «d tthensioa, the writer of a lead ic in

one of our evening papers fell in singularly

illustrates how the most familiar passages, sayings quoted almost
every day, arc often misunderstood. He was speaking of the chance
that a certain potentate would adopt a merciful cow irticular

JTBJtinre, winch Kemed, as he said, unlikely, because that ruler's
quality of mercy was not such as falleth from h ned

"as an exceedingly fine sieve indeed." I happen to know

that many suppose the word "strained" in the fan;
have this meaning, though one would imagine that cveryor..
perceive how Inappropriate such a meaning would be
the- dew tailing BOO isonably cnoti; las

contrasted with water 1 rough a sieve nor,

but what an absurd image of forced mercy tbl bow

commonplace and unpoetieal ! The expression is obviously used
with direct reference to Shyk>

ill 1 ? tell me that; I the kind h is

«lone through a tl wrung from a nc

dry clotli. 1 the

lost,.> 1 lie word '

is so mbundci:.iiiii<l The matter is easily tested b> the

appeal il poetry, though it may lose

i'lootn, loses not all

II I be forced to show tli
you plea 1 answer, Mercy should not be like motn

wrung with an effort from a cK uld be a* dew falling i:

hca. : and though the words arc

and pen: mild not be

water Mi , is as at

irrck \

A ND here I Jed of a still more familiar qui

■1~\ alwa> 1 wrong and utterly abs

well-known Timet Daiuus et <hm Jrrcnla.

Table Talk. 251

d, " I fear Greeks and those who bring gifts," which it, as

>arks Readc would say in his forcible bin appropriate maimer,

*«o cruel silly." It implies, and tonlj 'understood to imply

(■^Ijch makes the absurdity of the mistake the greater), that the

c »«-«b were in the habit of liringing gifts, and that they and all who

iTethat habit arc to be feared ; but neither one nor the other of

***<se things is intended in the saying, either as originally written or

a* it i* understood by those who know anything about the matter.

T*e true translation of the saying is, of course, " I fear the Greeks

«wea *feen they bring gifts." (I would write, "I fear the Greeks

c*eo bringing gifts," but that in English this admits of two meanings.)

It ■ not merely th.it this interpretation, being the only one which

"Many point or sense, mint l>e preferred to the other, but that the

other h inadmissible. Goo<l 1 ..itin for " I fear Creeks and those who

beqg gifts" might be given in more ways than cm, especially in

P*trr, but in whatever way it might be given, the relative pronoun

"■a appear. But even if the common translation were admissible,

ncfa sheer nonsense that that of itself would determine which

be preferred.

TT is a lihel on human intelligence to say that "every man is
■I mad upon on-: : " but it is quite true that a good

••aye/ us are in one direction > great ileal more foolish than in
'"other. The question is, how great a fool a man is to be per-
mitted to be in his own line, without disqualifying him for the
*»wgement of the affairs of other people. A man may still
hthere in the Claimant to the Ttchbome estates, and yet exercise the
°*5ee of a trustee ; but is a man who believes that he has daily
coowr$ation with Sh.-.kespcare, Byron, George Washington, and
ftwhn Pilate, fit to occupy the position of a manager of public
*h»B? That is the question which is agitating the New York
■Wdof Education, with respect to the superintendent, Mr. Kiddle,
^ohis so recently given to the world his "spiritual communications."
A* ongin of this great work wc are told was " a peculiar sensation
^oienecd in his daughter's right shoulder," (not over the left, as
«*Xwld imagine), "and the discovery that a pencil placed in her
•ad was moved by a force external to herself." After this, of course,
'•* tbe table-tipping, and the usual spiritual "phenomena" which
k» the same proportion to what we generally understand by that
it. Crummle's stage pump and washing tubs do to a scene
*TTeIbin. But the amazing part of the business is that a superin-
*»&at Of education could believe that, after deadi, and in the spirit

war

252 Tlu GetUkmans Magazine.

world, all the high/ intelligence* shouM It it

true that Miss Kiddle is the " intermediary," And it is of counc

]>ossible that Shakespeare may be "talking down ■ to the understanding

of a scliool-girl, but the alternative supjwsition that the school 1

may be talking lor herself is not to be altogether ■•. ■ I was •

rth," says the Hard of Avon, "but how much I

I -.1 have done if my powers of talent (tie) had been directed by

the beacon-light of I !t must be said, however,

.:, though his grammar has become shaky, and his

jnphors farfromorigin.il. be docs not indul Ion

verbosity peculiar to fifth-) 1 writers into which poor

Byron has fallen. "I am in a : of "I lilde

ling the possesion of titles obtained upon the

borders of mother earth, but v do not help my elevation

here . . . except < N Jth according to my means

of using these gifts of humanity." The beat part of tunable

sentence appears to be the X .!■'... which is very neatly put, though

hardly characteristic of the speal. My dear

friends. 1 am Edgar Poe, do ember that I wrote the tales

of woe?" — which, like Mr. Welter's a remark, is poetry

without intention, ar... oly will not increase the literary

of the author ■>."

KK) and "in a black dress
(a very , ), sends fer the interme-

diary, an injun widowed Queen

though without specifying tlic object ; white Columbus congrjtulat
himself on " no longer being annoyed by unbelievers in thecxi
of a piece of land." Among our own large and varied collc< I
fools we have of course believers in spirit-rapping ; but so far as
'.cm are superintendents of School Boards.

IN .. the world is grow

a the sewfl
the » indrcd millions uf tons an hoar,

a hundred and fiftj feet— may be m aroo-clectrical a»- 1

.'. to all the mechanical forces of the
work) -v. so long ago that the opinion c

[-Tactic
a couple

all would make the finest a ipon earth.*

i 1

jX aw^vrutcor* called the * sik 1

Table Talk.

253

kely to form a higher estimate of the wealth and

itutie of London, than will suggest itself to those who, after

whirled anions the chimn of the Sumy villages,

padu-i bed in the at Victoria, Lodgate HOI, or

Charing Cross. IV certain thai the average

traveller who 1 • at a satisfactory

of some of our prim ipal institutions, and will be
inap" extortion of certain sections

of out 11 be more disgraceful than the

state of I a BtCStrte Nark their

passengers. 0|>ening on to streets in which there is no room for
traffic, and in which there are consequently no cab-stands, the
wharves constitute a hunting-ground for the worst species of ha

I undon lias yet produced. Before the vessel arrives at her

lation she is lioaided b> a crowd of porters, who sci/e every

icce of luggage and walk it off out of the owner's sight An

Englishman teanu by exp< rience to fee one of these men, sod to

give hi ng the others at hay. A foreigner, hovr-

1;, at the merry of these
With dismay he sees package after package -Hatched
gaze, ot, it in. ids. To add to

Wl complications, comes the of passing the customs officer.

When he is outside of the wharf, he Buy sit down on his baggage and
nil till eternity for a cab. No other open to him than the

eel, and his only chance is ton ntlybyhis property

and pay some of the idlers about to letch him a vehicle. My own
«x]<ricncc of the state of affairs on my return from

ne that ■ ten it must be

It is a matter of imperiout ty that

change should great

'barter smaller
ers, 1 on the Thames

Embankment, out of the way of thi traffic of the City, and

if cabs ? It would add greatly to the
■at voyagi tie such am nl could be

m»dc.

- advantage w trend the, ado] 'lie course

1 recommend is that it- intending travellers to

reach of departure without 1 cnormou-.

irlicr than thi in order to

allow for the chance of blocks in the • om-of-th

tituattun 1* tlwt in which 1 reside. It is, indeed, within three

254

7 lie Gentleman's Magazine.

radius of Charing Cross. Yet, when a cab was obn

difficulty at Si m-'s Wharf, ihc driver rtftlKd Ml tnkc

farther than the nearest station of t

could of cour hosen to be ol

have insisted on his taking me the whole way, at

driving away nitho: eofnndir

a second rchi

„,,

THE wretch who, the oft
obuincd access to >ra ol a dying clril I

n rather feigned to do so i" with two

medicos, read pn

into the dining-room, and taking advantage of the carelessness

wrought in the establishment

and decamped with all the portable property he

upon, has. I am glad to k >p< — ;>., condig

punished. His opport' : that pas

one of the servants rushing out for
said " I mi ;i i! he would have said " I am a i

man" (he carried l I'rayer-book in his pocket), had a moi
line q elf.

In comparison with toil
•-■thrcn as

1 lihcrwise, I
with .» i • i o the good folks coming

out, li .. at each contribution, and afterwards poi

sum total, used to In; thought
line.

IT i i withhold rrora the Fr

energy and entcquisc they di- ;
term in its pi i compline

bnuxii ce, or art is like! value

edias, the collections of » ientific wo
•

as ruli

arc conccnvc'l

Table TaUc.

255

Mansel du Librairc ct dc "Amateur de Livrcs of M. J. Ch. Brunet.

In appeared, there

scarcel) ired

by grievous and errors. One HUtU in

•hich F.nglisli literature is treated Hw new edition

of > gnd pub-

hshed by M .■• ves and Turner, in 15 vols. 8vo., London,

'*; described as being in 5 volumes, as edited by W. Cur.-. •

HuiJiu and published by Rwtt and Turner. Sometimes I find a

*c«Ucnce half French and half English, such as appears under the

I AlcocJc, "Relation du bombardement el Quifbcc, par

un Jt-suite du Canada; with an English tr.vdixtion; " and some-

■<•«, as under the head Art of Illuminating. I am at a loss to know

*hat the English is intended to convey. Now. the Manuel da I.ihraire

■ » standard wotIc win rs on tin? shelves of every book-buyer

pe, and Ul ' i- likely to bear it company. Is it

da BS. I niiiin-
*dot ct Cie., wl ■ to the Flre&ch Institute, to find

""^e English si noe over their Sheet! and correct

**«■ obvious error . alphabet^?

l^^t rilll.F. praising the energy of the French publishers who

^f supply us with such encyclopaedical collections as France

■^^t- that England was similarly rich, I would

**^a it remembered that the fault u not wholly oars. A French
*~ X< of nr.| (Sen among Eng.

he -ame class has a merely nominal

ince. This difference i-> quite adequate to render

Tc profitable in one country and quite unremunerative in others.

*~* «fl educated Frenchmen pay as much attention to the literature of

^teland as Englishmen pay to that of France, there will be a better

"*^.nce of our wiping off til h of having so few encyclopaedias

Why of the name, destitute of a General

I not undergone as many changes as a kaleido-

i scope, wd among a people leas inconstant thsn the FreiKh,

th. the name of the Rue de Momy has been changed

at Paris, into the Rue Pierre Chatroo,

it to the mind to

no! - " the whirligig of Time brings in his

revenges." i ■ h the " Patriarche des esprils forts"

>r his

:i:

brace.
dyas

The Gentleman's Magazine.

was condemned by the Parliament and the University as well as
the Jesuits, a street is now dedicated to his memory. It is like the
transformation of which Hamlet speaks : " Mine uncle is king of
Denmark, and those that would make mows at him while my fathcT
lived, give twenty, forty, fifty, an hundred d .his

picture in little." As Charron was to KHOM extent the precursor <
Rousseau and the Encyclopaedists in " naturalism. " and the
friend and disciple of Montaigne, who, when dying in his cmbr
urged him to adopt his family arms, it is bul Datum] that a body ,
advanced in opinions as the Municipality of Paris should seek to do
him honour. Few of Charron's political Of social theories arc likely
to find a trial. It is amusing to find him < ensuring the adoption of
clothing, and demanding, " Why should he that is the lord of all
other creatures, not daring to shew bunselfe naked unto the ma
hide himselle under the spoiles of another, nay adorne himsclfc ? " I
quote from the nld translation of Samson Lcnnord, London, i6<c
the first edition of whi< h is erroneously assigned in the Hihliographc
Manual of I OwttdOS t<> 1658.

I HAVE heard it maintained with much zeal and eloquence,
well-known IftttraUar, that among the few things proven
demonstration in this world may be counted the fact that nations 1
the exact op|x»ites of what they are generally assumed to be ;
nothing is so misleading as generalisations concerning peoples.
French, this lover of paradox maintains, are the most solid of natic
the Teutons the flightiest, the English the most frolicsome. Re
statistics show that one characteristic attached during many years 1
Englishmen, does not appertain to them. So far as regards tende
to suicide, Englishmen come behind French, Belgians, Pi
Austrian*, Swiss, Danesmen, and Norwegians ; all nations, indc
except the inhabitants of Southern Europe. The Danes dti
recent years have had an unenviable precedency in sclfslau
France comes second on the list. Nation il characteristics have)
thing to do, doubtless, with the tendency to suicide. Still, influe
of climate seem* to tell, since in the countries where the sun sh
most, like Spain and Italy, suicide is comparatively unknown,
seems certain that east winds and the like exercise a deprcr
fluence. Certainly, if suicide was ever palliable.it would be in the 1
of men who have held on through winter and spring in the hope i
summer, and have been rewarded by a June and July such as 1
through which we hare passed.

ABAS.

THE

GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE

SKI'! I M!.l R I879.

UNDER WHICH LORD?

BY E. LYNN LINTOX.

ITER XXV.
THE LAST APPEAL.

ALL. this disgraceful turmoil about Theresa Molyncux anil the
Honourable and Reverend Launcclot Lascelles was perhaps
more painful to Ringrovc Hardisty than to any other. He had the
honctt Englishman's pride in the purity of the women who

■were his friends ; and the fair fame of girls whom he had known from
their infancy, and who were in a manner like his sisters — the only
aon of sisters that lie had — was specially dear to him.

il ilic harder for liiin now, a few yean ago there had
been certain tentative little passages between him ami Theresa. She
fancied herself in love with him when the cafloe home from
I ; and she had shonn what she fell too clearly to In- mistaken.
had been struck by her prcttiness, flattered by her preference ; and
consequence had wandered round her for a short time, asking
would do, and was she really his assigned half? Finally
edded thai not ; ami that a temperament which gave

being asked to give, was not that which he most desired in
wife. Still, he always had for her that certain tenderness and secret
1 of possession which a man feels for a woman of whom he has
and his indignation was the more bitter now because of
short time of hesitation and virtual ownership, when he had
a few flowers of thought and fancy on the altar where the vicar
lighted such a consuming fire.

Like everyone else, he understood the true state of things, and

the religion which expressed itself in hysterics and nervous

tou ccaxv. BO, 1; $

»58

The Genilcmaris Magazine.

exaltation was simply the passion of love under another name. Ar.
also like everyone else not committed to Ritualism blindfold,
knew that Theresa had been led into this state of semi-madness
the spiritual phi) with which n celibate priesthood enforce

dogmatic teaching, and that Mr. Lasccllcs had made love to lier aft«
hi-. c..",ii manner. Whetha that manna had been i nfty and
dated, or open and confessed, it had been love-making all the same ;
and to Ringrovc and some others the vicar stood as the respoatit
author of all the mischief.

But this was too delicate a tiling for him to touch. Women,
tenia 1 and other, may take >;ir!s to task for their folly; and £■!
men may say a word in season, of not too direct a kind, agaii
sleeve-wearing of the heart which attracts the daws ; but what can :
young fellow do? especially if the lines are not laid in his o»
country — if the one implicated is out ot hit Wat both forage:
knowledge, so that he cannot drop hints about undesirable habit
and knows nothing of any damnatory antecedents, both of whic
well handled may be made useful as checks and refrigerators ?
young man cannot go to a girl of his own age and say : " My dl
you arc making a fool of yourself with the vicar or the curate — tl
captain or the lieutenant, and all the world is laughing at JfOU."
even straightforward Ringrove felt this, and knew that it w
possible for him to lecture Theresa or advise her, to reprove or i
enlighten her.

But if he could not do this, he could speak to Hcrmione :
Virginia; and under cover of deprecating their friend's foil).
deploring the scandal that had occasioned, perhaps he mi|
them some little good, and open to the hateful truth, as he saw i
the dear eyes which were so last shut now.

He saw very little of cither mother or daughter in these sad
times ; only at the Sunday morning service. When he called at I
Abbey as he still did — often— they were sure to lie out or eroj
and he had to content himself with Richard's company ot
two men indeed were discarded with impartial severity by the wcir
to whom fanaticism was dearer than love ; and if Ki< I
be the Man of Sin, Ringrove took tank as his younger DKM

But a man's love bears a tremendous strain when put to it ;
to Ringrovc as to Richard, these beloved ones were not so much i
be blamed as pitied. It was to both as it would have been
they believed in possession. A grievous thing truly, that those !
bodies should be made the strongholds of fiends ; but it was
no fault that they had been so disastrously invested. It was on

*••••.••

Under which Lord f

*$9

i qacstion of relative strength and weakness ; and the livil One is
ngl
It was just about noon when Ringrove entered the drawing i
[ the Abbey, and sent in his nam [i . Fullerton and Virginia

room upsi

im? ' asked Hcrmione, looking perplexed
«J.

:ed side by side on the couch at
bot of the bed ; watching the maid who was packing a small
t&m of Virginia' :h linen. No

m childish times and sat red as the first beginnings
property were added . tty trinkets noi personal

• favourite books of poetry, nor photographs of home
.- of finery: — only linen. The ciu<

ers were said with so much holy
plkation- motion and that queer

sacred rubbish which <.■ . -. must no! tee Dot

ice by Fathci '1 rusi ott —
| that was ittli portmanteau which

iven hertwi ago; everything else was renounced

(kit like the old id the old life.

mamma, " said rl pause: "let us see

:n do no harm, ami 1 should like to say good-bye to him
£Ood friends."

be always good friends with him, in a way— unless
I hope though th.it we shall not be. It makes so
the place win i) thii 2 to a public breakdown,"

of good si
e ought not to mind 1! yx on the

[of un

r all, Ringrove i.s ;i How t" said Hcrmione, with a

d he been a good Churchman he would

; but il lia with a

r and daughter were in an abnormal state to-day; and
fter mood towards. . theii I Erectors

Ives the;: ii no tears had

v, ith each ; and had they
., ! by the sense of sinfubjess and the carnal

t, should they mourn for the joyful event that was now at
jxy would have clung to each other weeping with the illogical
.uw of women who have wilfully undertaken to tarry an un-

260 The Gentleman's Magazine.

necessary cross — by which they give pain to themselves and to other*,
under the mistaken idea that what is unnatural and disagreeable it
right, what i-- loving >tncl pleasant wrong.

The maid, less controlled and on a lower level of holiness
altogether, was weeping bit: I it dkl Dd matters

hand on her shoulder, said in a low
voice, while her fate was as it were illumined by B kind of inner
light :

"Don't cry, Man,-. Why should you? I am going away
for tin i holiness. Th( I

unhappy in tfai

11 But the first time as you have left home alone, Iffss, and bo one
to do your hair or see to your things I " said Mary, crying more because
<<f the exhortation. " You will be lost, away by yourself. It seems
as if you would never come hack again

•■ la Ecu doing things for myself I shall not have much to di
you know, Mary," answered \ hail— that

ry easily done now

" Yes, indeed it is I" sighed M con-

version which had cost her young roisW >tic clalxa

which would have made her -look so pretty." " As you say, t
not so much to do now, the I till, 1 like to lu\

handling i

"So you will, Mary! A in in ten

daysr r with a

but Virginia had turned away at that mon
something on the table.

" W i pose we must go down and sec K

Hermione. "You : | to do, Mary. Coi

getting nearly luncheon-time. Sliall I ask him to stay, dear? 1
will do jusl

" Yes. said \ " It will lie better I

Her Up quivered as she said thi

■
all feeling was controlled, all cx|
iled ; and then ihcy went «l<

and i. i*oi i

day tli>

"Hi

going forn the root:

Under which Lord?

*&* with pleasure and his look and bearing that of old times, rather
dm belonging to the new order of things. " I have seen *o little
«f jwiof l.i: ldcd with the loving regret which is such sweet

fcflny when received by love 1

"That is not our fault,'' said llcrmionc gently, but with meaning
nier reproach.

" Nor mine," he answered. " I have called here so often!— but
jw rm never at home."

"Wchave so much to do out of doors." she relumed.

4 1 wish I saw more of you — as I used in old times before I had
tftndcd jou," said Ringrove, looking ;it Virginia.

iu not?" asked Hermione. "It is your own
^fi. Ringrove. You have < If off from us. If you had

fcu> good and what you ought to have hcen, there would never
k* been this separation. And if you had liked us as much as you
**<J to say, you would m it have deserted us as you have done.

dship been what [once believed it was, you would

■t gone with us in our new life, and have heroine a good church-
On ought. It would have given both Virginia and myself
il happiness to have counted you as one of us. But you
■o not enough friendship for us even to make the trial ! "

"De»r Mrs. Fullerton, this is scarcely just ! You know how
"ty I have always loved both you and Virginia ! "
RingTove spoke with more agitation than he could i onceaL
"Tnen why did you not come over to Anglicanism with us?"
IHermione. "Wcdid not wish you to do anything wrong. We
r*Wed you to become a good man and lend a religious life, as
■*ght to da"

"ft* how could I make one of a party which I look on as the

■* of national liberty and intellectual progress?" he said. "I

loot join the d tj here, dearest Mrs. Fullerton. All

• minly conscience and English feeling that I have are dead

VBB it I think and always have thought priestly domination the

[disastrous of all the tyrannies that the world has ever seen.

»W could I, as you say. go over to your side?"

"Conscience .'—your pride and want of faith, your self-will and

ill disobedience, you mean. Call things by their right names,

cive. We shall understand each other better then."

nc said (hi speech in the sweetest voice

tendered lace and accent possible. It was an cstab-
formula rather than a personal accusation — something that
t had been taught rather than had reasoned out for herself •, «&

<*W

262 The Gentleman's Magtuu

when believers say generally that men become sceptics that the;,
have freer license to do evil — that they may gi> i their pauion*

without fear of ] it— banishing God wit of their wor

ire afraid of Judgment.
Re smiled.

■1 as tliat ! " lie said gravely -.

it any man who knows
orld can
thai «'t i ?"

" Ah. [>oor 'I! '.villi

opt " V.

all, Ringrove, an hj

like a sin ol m, and must not be laid to ll

of the Church."

•' No, but it 8U| if those who refuse ti

Dew order of thin , . is vre do. these priests, as

religion, you can

He spiil 1'ienne he knew that I

ing the shallows, s! sc to dan

Virginia ■'

of tenor, i

" 1 :

I and
practice of holiness to be 'ling*

in connexion with ihi I n icsts is ■<■ mefttl I

Eki you give these unholy thoughts and motives to us all ?
makes me weai

clasping h to her forehead- leroun

■
" I ascribe nothin
and holi
ways bol'l

the in

" Hath ' hul

Under which Lord?

263

s any other woman, and told so like any other?
The faithful love of an honest man cannot be a sin, nor yet a
degradati< n

not care to hear it, dear, but there is no fin in poor

ire for you. Superior himself did not say then was!"

ii of her old self— her oil by with

romance and human She wa herself

knew by I. the moment thai

nia would There was no harm in it, and there

might be good.

I "irginia with B kind of horror which
lid not understand, and which to Ringrovc was
p
lh I that 1 could clear your mind of all this terrible hallucina-
-mA passionately. n in it, Virginia 1 it is

<>rthy of your good I hal you do not love me, and do

not care to 1 me, I can understand ; that ii ihouid be ■ sin to

you my saying liow much I love you— ly is ih.- mere folly,

jieduitry, of reserve I "
"You ■ id, turning away in a hi

rnanii r. '■ No one undcrel in Is !

" Perhaps only too well," he answered with a sigh. "But
ii I have loved you too long and faithfully not
it to speak, and you need not be
of mc What 1 have borne - iH these years I can go on

.ill;— for you have been the •

central thought of my life for a longer time than you know of. I
shall never forget you as I first saw you when 1 came home from
the ( up the steps while I stood at the door,

■ >ur blue frock back from your feet, your face a little
rai»e»: 4 at mc with pleasure then ! — your shining hair

spread on your shoulders— exactly like the little Virgin at \ 1

.1 lovely womanhood yours would be; U pure
and beautiful as bei

shuddered and lias:
" T ick voice

lo you say that, dear? Whal makes

her, was she not a woman like any other?" he asked. "What

blasphemy is there in saying that an innocent little girl reminded

I'ture of her own girlhood, or that a lovely womanhood is

of lh

re than woman," said Virginia in a ttvcTwft N<a\ct.

264 The Gentleman s Magazine.

"She was the Divine Mother, and it is a sin to liken anyone to
her."

work! of I. in you make fur your

he said with manly pity. "There is no ham in this, at h
my eyes 01 those of

ncc. I would not My it if I thought i: wi
again if it pains yon. I want only to

mother, wlii : I nd thought for all these yeans. No ! 1!

turn from me, Virginia ' Lei on :ht to the jioint, if for the

last time

" 1 >:\ hi a I rlermione in a low voice. " He is a

good man, Virginia ; and if he does love you so much, you may yet
win him over to the Church. "

Virginia mentally repeated a prayer to the Holy Viij afe-

guard against what she felt to be the sin of the moment, and
du bad finished she raised her mild eyes with a half-weary

look.

•' You can say what you like, Ringrc. be feeling

of om performing perjana 11 listen to yon patiently. l'crhaps,

,1 ought."
" I hank you!" Kingrove answered tend: seeing Mow

|1m surface and only grateful for thi • speaking. Perhaps

too — for who can limit the niir.i 1 love? — he 1

turn her heart to him l>y tl. iree of his own lo\

••What you were as a young girl," he went on to say, me believe

that when you were older you would be as you are, dear — 1

true won I knew that ifyoi

you as I do love you ; and I hoped, and
would learn to love im-. I .itched you as you grew up, am

truthful, will
particle of vanity or |

right; and I thought that if I win- not good enough for you-
wouldbcl — I could -till u happy, and be a I

husband to • >n my side, and so

this dear mother ; and w , atcs it did ni

me that the thing was h<i bould have been so hap:

would have lived only for you, and to keep you from all »om •
would have loved you so well ! And the faithful love of an lioncat

incthing to a 1
good< tint-

of vclf-.i longs to 1

power, and which for the moil part cli

Under which Lord? 265

" I would have been glad at the time— very glad," said Hermione
softly ; '4 and I would be glad now, Ringrovc, if you were a good
.n."
"I am a Churchman," uJd Ringrove ; "what d« CM you call

I Protestant ! " rnurraured Hermione, in .1 voice of plait

" Whether good or not, U I ua,

I would have guarded her from every breath of CvB u carefully at

1 would have kept her from all sorrow. She should never bflvi

known more of the world's sins than she knows now, and less of

artificial cviL You should have been surrounded by love and

honour," he continued, turning again to Virginia, ''and all that ma

: hould haw ly tribute to your purity. I would

have been yourprotccto:. a should have been my good

We should have done I that anyone can do for the

.c made a perfect home and lived a noble life ; and we

should have been happy in each other, and have done more good

kind than we can fairly compute. You would have been at)

iple to the whole iiiy excellence,

1 woman in the quiet activities of home. Your
influence would have been unbounded; (01 who can limit the in-
flnenceof a pure woman living the honest Datum! life of wife and
•r ? And I should have been a better man than 1 thaU ever
be n- i you ' And all this hojic — all this grand lite— has

been what? If you had been born a Roman Catholic

I should not have wondered so much, however sorry I might have
been. You would then have been, in all probability, .1 nun by

—
.mcd !" murmured
"- en one as beautiful, as perfect,

I red I >y 1 1
H would in my vocation to be a nun

had I been a Catholic?" she asked, in ge voice.

" Ye» ; and as a Catholic I would have respected your choir i ,"

■ iswercd ; "though as a Catholii I should have deplored the

false view of goodness which takes from active life the purest and

finest natures to shut them up in a In b where they can do

" We .it.: irld to uphold the Romish Church

aQ its errors of doctrine .' Hermione, s$e»!ux^

266

The Gentleman s Magazine.

as she bad been taught. " But you lainteM allow us Angli-

cans the same vocation."

lie shook his head.

'• No, I do not," he said gently. "A woman can do better for
herself and the world than by incarcerating herself and reno;:
ing all practical u-ci'iilri.N. A ore value tlian a si

For a moment \ liginia did :">t speak ; then she turned to
Ringrove with a certain kind of dl lies* that

was more convincing than her mere words.

" Thank you lor ;cr voice

low and calm without a quiver of faltering in it ; " but no roan could
have ever hail my deepest love : — that belongs only to God and
Chun h. I have always liked you, as you know, but I do not ill
1 could have ever loved you had things even remained as they
were ; and now «re are IS fir as the poles asunder."

" Virginia, is it quite impossible?" said Hcrmionc.in a moved voice.

"This is your last deliberate word. I my

love and nil that it would give you— all that you could do for
and society t imitation

ing at K :holicism?" asked B . -.landing like

!> not a pale imitation, nor a mc he answered,

i yes.
'• lion- can it be anything else?" he said, with bis naive frank

!
thulic, and what else but imitation am i • assumption

<■! Roman Catholii liurchpan

"Let that part of it rejuia answered again, speal

more hurriedly than was usual with her. "You were talking of
yourself not of me. All I have to say is, I do all tlut

have offered mc, as all that the world could give mc an
the greater gain of my choi'

•• Forever, without hope of chau
" I'or ever, and I can never change
out her hand " We part as fnends, R i
part. This is good-bye."

rove did
reverently to his lip*; then abruptly teA his seat ai
window, looking out into the garden Cell among

i) was ct)

Under which Lord?

Soon after this Ringrove left, though Hermione asked him to

%, quim affectionately and like he* oW self, having Got the mo-

Bait forgotten all her artificial displeasure with him, and Only sorry

.;inia wax SO sit in her renunciation ; and though Virginia too

aid," Will vou not ' kindly and at if she reaOy meant it. He felt

■mi the strain would he more than hecould well bear, and one which

ifnousc to bc3r ; so he put aside both entreaties, and took

hi* ht from the table where he had laid it.

other day, not now," he said huskily; but when he said this
* did not look up, though her mother, glancing at her with
'light surp;: as.i kind of entreaty to unbend for just this

WXt, smiled in his face and repeated prettily:

.mother day; after Virginia is confirmed."

The luncheon [lightly less miserably dull than was

Ihclfcrvith all the meals— that is, the meeting timet of the husband

an: father with his wife and daughter. Certainly Virginia was

aoBodyablc even to pretend to eat, bai ■-lie mi not to deadly cold

•n htr manner to her father, and Hermione, secretly much disturbed

ia spite of her Di wat more gentle and less reserved

to bo husband than v.. te. Not much was said

miem; only the spirit of the hour was different owing to that ccr-

"apaturhation which somewhat marred the consciousness of triumph

ai seccestful wilfulness— that weak feeling of natural compassion for

"tiinotr for whom the thong had been so cleverly knotted.

yOU inclined to come with me to Starton? I am riding

**«; will yon come with mc?" asked Richard of Virginia. Keenly

he was now to every change with these two beloved rebels,

" Mt the softer mood of the moment : anil lie was weak enough to

^nk he could profit by it.

Mother and daughter exchanged looks.

"Idonot think I can, papa, to day," said Virginia, not looking at

u'm.

"I want Virginia to come with me," said Hermione, also not
*<*ingat him.

*I am sorry. It is a line day, and a ride would do Virginia
$"&,' he said. " Vou seldom use your horse now," he added to
& daughter. "Seldom? — never, I should say."

"Ido not care for riding," said Virginia evasively; "and 1 have
togo*ith mamma."

"Where arc you going ? " he asked.

It wis. not suspicion which prompted this question ,; it was only

268

The Gentkmaiis Magazine.

tt&m

'■ Wc have business that you would scarcely feci any sympathy
for," said Hcrmionc, quite gently and amicably.
He sighed.

" I suppose not," he said ; " if it is the old thing."
"When are you going to Starton?" his wife asked, as if xhc

were merely interested is a Grieod'i movements.

•• In ■bout half :m hour's time. I have first to go to Lane
to see the new cottages, and then 1 shall ride over to the town.
Is there any chance of meeting you and Virginia there?
eagerly.

" I do not know yet ; we may," she answered, while Vir
tumed pale, and crossed herself faintly.

" Well, I must be off, I suppose," said Richard, rising reluct
This small approach to a new spirit was very precious to
He did not like to break up a meeting that h;id more of
flavour of old time about it than had been the case for
weeks now.

"Ye-, it is time too that we were going," said Hcrmionc, look
at the clock) and rising. "Good-bye till wc meet a;:

She spoke quite softly, and Rii hard's face, which of late
grown thin and worn and haggard, turned to her with a
gladness that almost transformed it.

*• Good-bye, my dear." he said : " till we meet again, Good*by
my Virginia."

" Goodbye, papa," answered Virginia.

Impulsively he held out his hand to her. He had never

able to reconcile hunst If t" ihe child's coldness, almost less than i
llemiione's withdrawal

Virginia went up to him and put lier band in his.

ve yon come to give mc a kiss?r he asked, a little take
out of him*-. ten surrender. He had lived so long i

in such Strict excommunication by wife and daughter that tr
gentk&ess to-day went near to unman him

•■ 7e*j papa," she said, and held up her race as she used when i
child.

He caught her to his heart and kiwed her forehead tenderly.

■ \U ladybird I my little darling!" he half whispered,
then you have still some love left for your fathe:

v prayers, jwjxa ! ' she answered, flinging herself into
arms with a passionate pressure as strange as all the rest.

• Your prayers ■ ill do me no harm, my darling," he said ; " but
your love will give mc new life ! "

Under u-hich Lord?

269

" Papa ! say that you value my prayers for your soul '. " she
pleaded, as if for very life.

' As expressions of your love for rue ? yes, my darling : " he
vsswered

•'No' no! as possible means of grace and (rue enlightenment I "
she siid.

.iled a little sadly, and shook his head.

B all I want, my Virginia— yours and your dear
■ethers. That is the best means of grace that you can offer mc.
Gere mc back all that you have taken from mc— or seemed to have
ok«n from me of late— and you will do more for mc than any
number of prayers could do ! ■

"1 do lore you, papa," said Virginia with strange solemnity.
"But because I love yon, 1 must pray for you !"
in moment J ones came into the room.
"Please, sir, the horse is at the door, and John Graves is in the
Had/ and wants to speak to you for n moment," he said.

' I will come," returned Richard quietly; but he was sorry for
«V ■lerruption ; and as the man began to clear the tabic, no more
•as lo be said or done at that moment
He turned his mild kind thoughtful face once more to his wife,
I from her to their child

■re meet again," he said smtli
Yirpaia did not answer. 1 1 id she tried to speak her voice would
ant fifed her : and Hennioni , whose eyes were full of tears, made
1 kale inclination with her head, and mURD mething that stood

fcraftcndly farewell— till they all should meet again. And then in a
itiiur. John ( . iness being ended, they watched

tpoor unconscious victim of coming sorrow mount his hen
' slowly down thi

oor papa: I hope he will not be very angry," said Hemiione
ttely. '" I am afraid he will ; but it is only for a short
You will be home in eight days from this.11
■ I noi* it will not be \ery sad for you, mamma," said Virginia,

her mother's hand with a close nervous pressure.
'I will do my In *iid her mother; '"and you will be

rk *o soon I It is not north making a fuss about ; but, of course,
«hall miss you and the Sister terribly. Still— a week soon passes,
docs it not ? '*

aid Virginia constrainedly.

it was what Superior so much desired," continued
I soon as your confirmation was decided on he had

270

The Gentleman's Magazine.

his heart 00 your going into Retreat- 'rus»

" V. lore cons;

" So now let us \
Starton too to-day ; but we wil

the high; and perhaps ' bcawkwi

if we did."

"Let us go now I He will not have finished at Lane End]

" And <:ott arc

; US."

r"Vety well! v»id Hermione bi .; to

shake off th nion which we

'I hey went uj
The small portmanteau n .-■ already packed
time the carriage would Come round
•■ hrperioi wished rlerrn one,

Doming into he* daw 1 in her hand.

Virginia ing earnestly,

but like one in the very extremity of pain. Had
luring the worst • le agony for the trull

aid not have looked more 1, more pitifully

shed.
"Don\ Virginia : don't look like that 1" i ried Hermioi
into a sudden passion of tears. "It ii only for a w
. .: ' Think how soon a week will jwss 1 an

tual good you C ."

to help me : " rrkd
to her mother convul-ivily,
" Yes, let us both ask for help!" was die

I
sent her,

tepofol; tor and db

afal >a creed -.>tion to I

was .
they both
and entered I

" To the nun.

"Co by die It

>rd was si the wholi

keep up her i ourage and to
maki card only

that had dune so much to • ilae*

Under which Lordf 271

hood, deceit, treachery was abhorrent ; yet at this both wen

dealing deceitfully, both were false and treacherous alike. Taught

1) fatal school v. justifies the me

that the faithful must perfect their work at all cost of morality, of
humanity— that infidels and atheists arc accursed and to be dealt
is the enemies of Cod alike — that honesty is sinful,

crooked dealing is holiness if that hbo old check

station and that crooked dealing [e it— both had become

warp-. lives ; and now when they

stood (ace sorrowful and

secretly ashamed. Hera ng ber bu

her ; but the Director of eoi h had
assured hi* penitent that sht- ig well, and thai God and the

Church approved ; an<l with this now striving to

and content her soul — and finding the

The time passed, and the Station was at last reached, without

[>of undi 1 at the station they

found Mr. l^asceUcs and Sister Agnes, Father Tru9cott and Cuthbert

Mnlyncux wailing to receive them and to ensure the carrying oat of

the design on liand.

" )■ lid the courtly n Ota two pale,

n the platform astli
curve. " But a near thing I "

■ Liod-byc, dear Virginia ! " said hex mother, kissing hei hastily.
She dared not show any feeling bd

tocloK'ty. " In a neck's time, remember nil till

you come back I "

" But you do not grudge her? " asked Si ■•■• slowly

ning.

I ideed not I but she must come back in a week's
il Ilcrmionc, finding comfort in the defmitcness of
the time allotted.

Vi:_ icd her mother, but neither spoke nor wept The

cold hand firmly, all

: ercd in her ear: "For the Blessed Virgin and
honour 1"

On. he had,.; d hergood-b)

to her mother as if to speak to her — to k>
tcr, ever watchful, drew her with a firm band
carriage. " No looking back, child I " she said ; wl
)lt, under guise of help, lifted her bodily from the ground and

272

The Gentleman s Magazine.

set her in the carriage. Then the door- m rung,

the whistle sounded, and the train moved wit of the

' i Kir Mother's chosen child ! " said Sister Agues with her silky
smile.

" Child, you have left the darkness of error and arc now gi
into the light and the truth I ither Truscott with mot.

il hei heart would break,
carried hn in : . atOK sorrow as a sin, and asked to be

Supported through the one and forgiven for the oil raa for

the good of souls — her own and others — and for live glory of God
the thing had been done. The Father of Lies was draped in
shining garments for the occasion ; and the life of deceit through
irhjt i she had been led for so long now was, according to her in-
structors, a pious fraud which the wickedness of others had neces-
sitated and the holiness of the end Justified

Chapter XXVI.

To ICAL CONCLUSION.

" Anli the child— where is Virginia?" asked Richard, as his wife
came into the room aloni

•v onkr of tilings mother and daughter kept always
together, v, of mutual support and coi

against this soul-destroying infidel of lose influ. i

irith the fear of old time love and indestructible

■ one without the 01 '^C

•'She is with Si>ier A tmione, trying to S|

induYerea

She was very pale, and little to

accentuated to be n

he returned slowly. " Will she be tab
" 1 do not know exactly," answered
music-booi. taking-believe to search for ■ut»c(hirj|t,

so that her face should not I

be somewhat veiled by distance,
lhat ber huUxind n
sooner or later , hut, as she and Mr. 1 hue?

the better. If becc I gi*«

looi runaways a still longer start should he dc

Under which Lord? 2"]$

; foT by the time he could reach London Virginia would

homed in the House of Retreat at C , whence she must

by main force and the police, if taken at all ; and Richard
ly think twice before he made such a scandal M this.
"Are you sure that Virginia is quite well?" he asked after ;i
riience and when Hcrmione, thinking the times now safe and
subject dropped, had come back from turning over the music-
bote

Dor me, yes!" she answered, still trying to speak with
Knee

To my eyes not. She is as changed in body as in mind," he
■dwh a deep sigh. " Her new friends and their absurd practices,
■liich I probably know less than half, have had a disastrous
■hence on her."

He looked at his wife with some reproach She did not answer.
&e w* thinking with dread of the time when he would have to
that other half of the truth.
" Whu is she doing to-night ? " he asked. " Any new vag.n
* Nee that I know of," said Hermione, not resenting the phrase
•he would have done had her conscience been clear. Hut her
ebetnyed the trouble of her mind, an.! seemed to show that
*» hidden than had been expressed.
Willi a sudden flash of what was real terror Richard remembered
VgSMii strange emotion, Hcrmionc's unwonted softness of this
eaoon; and now this studied indifference, which of itself con-
«n>barraasment. What did it all mean? What new disgrace
iattore for him? what further sorrowful perversion for them?
'Something is wrong with you and the child," he said suddenly,
^el me what it
"There is nothing wrong," she answered with a deep blush.
'look at me, Hermione," he said gravely and sternly.
Re oiscd her eyes .ir.d tried to meet his, but she could not.
^fleoked just up to the knot of his cravat
"How can you be so silly, Richard?" she said with a nervous
'hngb, her delicate lips strained and quivering.
Deceitful as she had become through the fatal doctrine of
**er»t," she was still candid at heart ; and when closely pressed, as
- nature asserted itself.
'There is something wrong," said Richard again. "You ran-

• leek in my face, Hermione, and I know yours. Tell me the
frankly. This double-dealing is so strange in you who were

* the very soul of honour and sincerity, I cannot reconcile
Touoaav. ko. 178s. t

274 Tf'e Gentleman's Magazine.

myself lo it. Come, 8|>eak to me honestly. What is thU aboot
Virginia? Why is site not here to-tiitlu ? "

" I suppose I hail better toll you now at once," returned Her-
mione, her confusion deepening, and her inability to stand examina-
tion overcoming her promise to " It is all the same
•bather I tell you now or aftCT," she continued, argii Batter
aloud ; "and really there is nothing so H to tell. Virginia
has only gone away with Sister Agnes for a week's Retreat at C— ;
that is alL Nothing so very formidable, you sec."

Again she laughed affectedly, and again her small sweet lips were
Bed Bid '|iir, i-ring

For the first time in his life Richard felt something like com.
for this dearly loved wife of his. Hitherto hi en of

that quiet unobservant kind which is ch of a constant

temperament and an occupied mind. He loved her ; and there he
stopped. He asked himself why, no more than he asked himself
why the sunshine was delightful to him or the flowers wctc beat
She was part of his life, her perfect beaut)' of mind and body p
the existing order of things; and not to lose her, no

iihout Ritth ination, not to imagine her free from fault

or blemish, would have b worth and

menl loveliness were as absolutely settled, as arbitrarily pro*
his mind, as the revelations of the spei

to debate about ; it was a question clo: t now

uotseni tweet aero ind a bitter kind of dis-

dainrol pity for her weakness and dl id one time

I have be '.<• for him to feel as that he should

have deliberately injured or publii

■- seemed to be almost some one else Was she indee<
mione, the beloved of his youth, the trusted of his ;. She

who could not look in his fcu uld not even lie bi

who dared not tell the truth ? — she who had lent hcrsc
faree of kindly pretence at the very moment when she
was doing that which would stab him to the heart ?
know which was the more painful— hi
.fe's falsehood
" So '. this was the meaning of the little comedy played ofT on me
to-day," he said with a bitter laugh, as strange fri
Hermione' y from her. "I n

blind for something worse

and Ifaj id come back to your better tel

Under which Lord*

feel something of the tenderness you were pretending. Well ! you
have had your laugh against me ; and I bear the sling of the dis-
appointment and the shame of the insult"

" You have no right to speak like this," said Hcrmionc half in
tears, and as much pained that he should doubt her when she had
been sincere as if she had never betrayed him when he had trusted
her. " Both Virginia and I were really grieved to be obliged to
deceive you, though only for a few hours. But we knew that you
would not have given your consent had we asked it. so we thought it
better to say nothing about it till it was done."

"And the knowledge tliat you were offending me counted for
nothing with you ? You never stopped to ask yourselves whether
you were doing right or wrong in thus defying as well as deceiving
roc? You, my wife, had no scruples in belpiQg my child to disobey
roe?"

Never in her life before had Hermione been spoken to by her
hmband in th-.s tone and manner. If the sudden revelation of her
duplicity hod transformed her to him, this bewildering severity did
the line for him to

for the good of her own soul and in the service of the
Church. That makes everything lawful," said Hermumc. looking
down.

•• You are right, Hermione ! In the service of a lie, falsehood —
in the service of tyranny, cruelty— in the service of superstition,
ignorance. You arc q I see you understand your formula

and car with admirable precision. You do credit to your

teacher I"

lo not understand yon," said Hermione with a curious mixture
• r and anger.
■' H he answered with the same manner of

corn. "You undo Ir. Lascell* -

and I «an scarcely credit you widt such i .r.holicity of synr.
VOUl you i" of'daUBJ ttt

not undn o dose sympathy

wit! that. Andiflregn inge in your feeling* 1 do

not i ni. Wh may be I am at

t man, and scarcely i
esteem with Btli mate lie as Mr. Lasccll

" Richard ! " she < with indignation in her tone, her look,

was indignation at hearing Superior
•no! at being told, for her own part, that

not care , \v.u\ mtitf.

•

276

Tlu Gentleman's Magazine.

affection — it would have been hard for her to say. She only knew
that she was indignant and that Richard was very disagreeable ; how
much she wished thai lie could have added "unjust

"Where has Virginia gone?" he then asked suddenly, still
cold and contemptuous as well as stem. "Can I 1 to tell

me the truth in your answer ? It seems strange to me to have 10
say this to you. Hcrmionc I Not so very long ago I would have
staked my life on your perfect sincerity; now I find myself doubting
whether you can grve u straight an answer to a simple question as
might be expected from a Jesuit, or even Mr. Liscclles himself,"

•' If you think so ill of me, it is scarcely worth while my answering
at all," returned Hcrmionc, wavering between math and tears.

" I think you will answer," he said sternly. " The child is under
age, and I have a right to know where she is and what she is
doing I "

" I have told you. She has gone for a week's Retreat to C

with Sister Agnes, before her confirmation."

Hcrmionc tried to speak with offended dignity, but »he found it
hard. She had never respected her husband so much as when he
made her understand that he did not respect her. Though
happiness lay in 1 i'.ic love to — in being courted,

flattered, petted, and all the rest of it — she was a woman who needed
a master and with whom a certain amount of fear was wholesome,

•' Where is this Retreat ?" he asked :>.

"At C ."

•• Not (u from London?*

" Mo, DOt far."

ioked at the < <

"There is time to catch the op train I I all bring ber

• to-morrow."

" No, Richard, you will do nothing so shameful ! " rising toon
agitation. What would Sister Agnes say, what would Superior th
if she let him go on such an en.' rxr she had promised tint

she would hold him as a blood -hound in leash to have set I
so prematurely loose on their traces ! " Why should you make all
this horrible fuss and confu ,-? Such a mrrc trifle ai

it is ! Virginia has gone only for a week's quiet prayer and contempla-
tion before the solemn rite of confirm re iafe *

e r Agnes, who is also i n retreat ; and you cannot go to a house fu I
holy women and 1 if you were tearchinR fo

thief! It will be too disgra< 1 scanda!

>:i should have thought of th

Under to-hick Lord? 277

:«n patient and forbearing with you up to a certain point, but now
till point is passed and I will bear no more- You have proved
jound/ an unfit guardian for your daughter. You have sacrificed her
» your infatuation, as the mothers of old sacrificed their daughters
• Moloch. She has no true friend but mc her father, from whom
wand your advisers have done your best to separate her ; and it is
»r duty to snatch her from destruction."

To snatch her from salvation, you mean,'* put in Hennione, a
fete below her breath and more as a formal protest than a real
•ROiition. Her soft sou! was impressed by hi* unwonted energy,
»i though at all times a godless infidel, yet, after .ill, he was the
tttgnucd head of the house, the rightful controller and manager of
tap, and to themselves the husband of the one, and the father of
He other.

For all answer Richard rang the bell; and when Jones came in
■lend the carriage hastily, peremptorily, in a manner so unlike his
wa, with such an odd return on the young officer commanding his
•jud, that the man looked at him curiously and as if he too found
fc general aspect of life changed.

"Good-bye, Hcrmionc," lie said, not even shaking hands with
•■-standing at »ome distance from her.

"Good-bye, Richard," she answered humbly. "Then you arc
**% going ? "

made a step towards him. This was their first separation
«« they married.

"Yes. I will bring her home tomorrow."

She made another little step forward.

"I shall be very lonely till you return," she said, and looked into

not She had forgotten Mr l.asccllcs for the instant, and
her husband to kiss her before he went — if indeed he must

UuL— In her heart she wanted to cajole him to stay.

* J scarcely think so," he said; " I am so little to you now, others
*»each!"

"You arc always Richard," she said with the sweetest air, the
Nenst voice.

Re caught her lo his heart, but put her from him as suddenly as
fciid taken her.

P* I must save my child," he said in an altered voice, and turned
*>v abruptly as if he distrusted himself as well as her; and in
1 ikon time was on his way to Starton, to just miss the train, the
** tain that night, which steamed out of the station as he drove
k

278 The Gentleman's Magazine,

Thus the religious runaways had a yet longer start, and picma-
lure detection was made so much the more difficult.

Telegraphing to London and to C brought no good results.

No one answering to the description of any of the four fugitiws had

got out at either place. To be nine, a Sister had alighted at C ,

but she was well known at the Home there, and she was moTco

1; ; so that her arrival only occupied the telegraph wires for
a short time U 1 a still further delay. Foreseeing all chani

the little party had diyji '.wo couples, and had changed the

!;•. While being looked for in 1-ondon they were making for

pton ; while tl- C they were

turning (be Needles on their way to St. Molo. tag had l>cen

arranged with the most consummate skill ; and Richard was again
bcr than hi. adversaries— craft and cm. : more

t-i.iuil i.nit nvcr love and liher.ihty.

e thing r ^hudyalike. Ri<

went up to l/>ndon by the first train in the morning, not retunung to
the Ahli ud the detectives d

but the ■■ nd the four had disappeared as complete!'.

if they had vanished into space. No endeavours couW hit on ti
traces, and by the end of five days Hermione's courage and en-
durance failed She had never been left id spite
of Superior's attentions she was too unhappy to bear her hde
and anxiety together broke down her >trcngth

ibs ; and, half in h *be

drove over to Starton on the and telegraphed to her i

•in c. She was ill. she said, ami . *o

Richard had nothing foe i: btu .ibandon the

the wife who
tef part to blame for all th y that had I

It was a curi. ii.it made

her hnsliainl unknown to Mr. I-nscclles. Not ex.-..
of her love, it was yet that

into marriage -u old forms BO that eve. !c»d

. look like life. tomed to have Richard o» part

.1 her "I lily life— < i>ivot of the whole and now the otataclc

which it was part of the play to circumvent — :'
death had token place and she was surro
sludows. Even I " liberty ',;■.

the charm Of her pious naughtin
It vulgn.
fell

Under which Lord? 279

the house, now pui lie absence of its agnostic master, and

made a new place of master for himself. Then aha did not like to
have those lonely mornings, those solitary meals those long dull
ings ; BOt tn know that she slept alone in the house, with only the
servants to trust to in case of danger. If Sister Agnes had been at
home it would have I lie thought. She could have gone

to th. mid have liked better than that Superior

should come to the Abbey— and at the Vicarage she always felt homed
and happy - she was miserable; and poor Ri> hard tun

• hum be :■■ d in London alone, and in Rich anxiety] And

igtiin she thought twenty times in the hour : What on earth
--•come of Virginia :

She was not afraid of a Cer. She vat sure that tin child

was safe; four people do not come to grief without some <"»' I*
something about it ; — bir. be? what . done

with her? why t hanged, and why had they not gene to

C as arranged from the fir*:? The mastery of it all per

up rague and uneasy suspicions as
she remembered Virginia's look of pain when she found her kneel-
ing at her faldstool, her almost passionate farewell to her father ;
and again her excess of emotion and diltretJ at leaving home
which had been visible all through, though so well controlled.
It was a horrible fear that came across her every now and then ; and
Sujtcrior, to whom . 1 I it, though he laughed it down for

dm moment, looked grave afterwards, and seemed to be secretly as
much i as herself. A not able to hear the sii

longer. Iter husband to come borne; and

him.

If only Mr. LasceUcj had the noble lives that

arc taken and the worthless ones that arc left !— the peace
would come were these gone, the ruin that follows on the loss of
those : — the enemies tliat cling far into old age, the friends th.it drop
the early years !— what a tangle it all is-, and what a hopeless
f.onfu ustanoc and providential design ! If only Mi

ljuccllc* had died . now so fearfully estranged, would

gone back to their old places and one victim at the least «©uld have
been spate thing was changed. The tremendous

power practice of confession made Mr. Lascclles

absoln situation all round, because dte supreme

bis hands —
her soul and ess — her essential virtue and her

husband's essential honour. He knew her every thought and regit-

280 Tiu Gentleman 's Magazine.

lated, jr punished, her every action. If the gave the reins
moment to her natural affection, and allowed herself to be even
compassionate to the man whom the priest had set himself to crush,
she was frightened back again to her assigned attitude by all the terrors
of wrath and judgment of which he had the irresponsible dispensation.
She was his, not Richard's; and he made her fed this when :
her that long [list of penitential tasks to purge her soul of the
disobedience which she had committed in sending for her husband
lie she wearied for him.
"This man of sin, this accursed intidcl ! " said Mr. I^scclles,
flaming with holy wrath; "and that you, a good Churchwoinan,
should have tukett him to come back I Why did you not let hi.
for ever — and why, when he was 01 ..way, did you not keep

Mm in; ' "

Hut when he said this, HeanioOC turned so while — was in •
deadly terror lest indeed this should be imposed on her as her next
act of renunciation and obedience— that Mr. Lascellcs, in hi> turn,
was afraid of going too far and too fast. He laughed off his sug-
gestion so pleasantly, so playfully, that he soothed her and made her
forget what he had said. But he lteld her to her penance all doe
same, and made her feel that she had been both unrighteous and
indelicate.

nwhile a letter came from Lgnes to her brother —

enclosing a few wor : irginia to her mother, saying simply :

" Do not be uneasy. We axe all well, and will write in a few days.'
The two letters were identical in the wording, and the postmark was
Paris.

This note was something to show to Richard, who was will
keeping Scotland Yard and the telegraph wires busy; and to far was
a comfort. For though it brought no help to him on the y
most nearly touched him — the Sister's influence and ''■
tic-ism — it proved that the child was at least alive and not yet made
the victim of ecclesiastical foul play, though she was still that of
ecclesiastical superstition. He could not hear more tlum what these
few unsatisfactory words told him ; not even what the postmark
letter had been, nor what the postage-stamp.

" Mr. Lascellcs had burnt the envelope," said Hermionc when
she was questioned ; " and she had not taken any notice ol

or the postmark ; " and Richard had to content himself with
this in the best way he could, and to wait on the further u
the page where tiful family history wag being wri:1

imc at last, and tftcn they knew alL In a long letter wi

Under vjltith Lord?

281

by Virginia to her mother the mystery was revealed, the seal of
secresy broken. She had carried out her intention to its honest
logical < I become in name the Roman Catholic

which she hud been taught to be in fact. She and Sister Agnes,
ihbcrt Molyncux and leather Tmscott, had all gone Ova puNn-ly,
and had been received as acknowledged members of the Church to
ch they had cither gravitated by force of direction from without, or
IO which, like Father Truscott, they had already for fOBM time aeattiy
belonged, doing its work while seeming to be devoted to a rival
cause.

It was a letter full of the stock arguments put forward at such
times. Authority and tradition ; the validity of these orders with the
:y of those; historical evidences; the divine mark of miracles;
absolute 3nd perfect organization of the Romish communion ;
value of belonging to a Church the dominion of whi< b extended
earth, nnd was supreme both in heaven and hell ; the
loveliness of the conventual life, and the joy found in following the
example of those holy men and women, the cloud of witnesses who
liad lived for the truth and died for its glory ; the rest found in un-
qualified submission to authority and in the total destruction of all
independent judgment ; — all the reasonings which had been so
craftily instilled into her by Father Truscott were reproduced in her
letter; and she ended by beseeching her mother to reconsider her
present position and to make one of the True Church. Anglicanism,
alio said according to her Director's direction, was a fair kind of
gateway to those born worshipping under its shadow. It note than
! not made the gateway to the true Temple, then was ii I
prt%on-house for the soul. The letter went on to say that she,

was now with Sister Agnes at the convent of the I'
where she had entered as a postulant to be received as a member
when her novitutc should be ended. She had found her true sphere
at last, she said, and had never known so much happiness as she knew
now. She was to be one of those perpetual adorers of the Blessed
Sacrament whose lives she had vaguely imagined before she knew

the reality or what led up to it ; and she was more than ei

grateful to the Sister who had first set her in the right way and carried

step by step to the end. Then she sent her love to papa, and told

l . that she would pray for him without ceasing and in full faith that her

pra ' be heard and his heart turned, before too late, to God.

The letter was an exact counterpart of the one written bf Sister

Agnes 10 her brother, save in the personal paragraphs. For these

Sister substituted a few sharp stinging sarcasms on Theresa's

282 The Gentleman's Magazine.

shameless passion and Hermione's sinful infatuation ; on the heat and
excitement and individual flavour of all that w. done at

Crosshoiuie, and that revolted her now when she thought of il ax
much as at the time. Anil at the time how much she had suffer

ii.ii! lometknea Be -tood up in them

of t' ritual odalisques, and have repn

criminal self-deception, their hideous sac; masking Uicir love

for a man under the guise of devotion to the Church. And

mg this of then), she wished to add mnation

of him, her brother, who, instead of putting <!ov\n this unwholesome

itement among the women, 1
:i 1 arty to the sin. SI. i- ih.mked God i1 reached

1)1.1 Liven of absolute purity where mm iliil i.d where

with the vanity and G
the 1 ■ ity, that had spoilt the work down

Crossholme.

This then was the end of it a!! .kiwnfall of t>

houses than one. To Mr. IjsccIIcs the blow was cspeciall,
The sum of money which he had hoped to get for the 1 | om

the Molyncux estate was now an impossibi!
Aunt Catherine without Cutlibert could do no;
perversion also had destroyed his hope of future re
Abbey; tad e of "Anj ." which was hit own— :

podeaml .■! hi nek

!>, the desertion of these two young people, and of h.
Father Thucott If this mu where an advanced ritual md

then 1 knew so many would think-H id to dot

u. and the 1 loser they clung to their barren Pn 1 1, the better.

If indeed Ritualism is only :i bridge to R v would

let us break it down before more hiivc gone over ; and «f wlwit tM
to be the endeavour to obtain free dew utinaitl

Churdi is only fighting for our old enemy the I
these masked foes to marshal themselves under their rw<
and let our own flag be -and Lutheran. r*e

arguments so well ; and felt some of the pai t»

rolled the stone to the top only to

Then xr\. in which Hermionc was lev

e of her daugl< id, inasmuch as si

•. hnsbaad ; ;nd the i'.iir.. nliv o)
intercourse with her, through tin . <-t as the madcM

of the
iilg to him Official

Under which Lord"

283

1 decidedly illtreated; and then, more than all this,
had gone into deadly error and left llic true for the false.

nothing is fit titer from the thoughts of certain of the ritualistic
school than to go over t<> which they are the min

to take aer h they arc the irregular. Roman-

ism U ohi< - for the 1 priest who dl

the bUhujM, breaks lite law of the land, flouts the courts,

igc of individual power for the
arativc scl of an organization where he is mil)' •'

like any little curate of his own,

11 whoic aim is to be irresponsible ruler, neither

tg superiority; but the honest and

dogoovci of all things, and so far justify

is not one who would ever leave the

) thing, for Rome where he would

be only a unit He loved pcM cell to give it up for die sake

and he lud reasoned himself into the belief that the

>n is logically sound ami honestly tenahle.

thought, to fce| sore and ilUreaied and to hold
e recreant four as perverts Sow the truth and ti to the

Tlve whole neighbourhood fell the n-. 1 une ;

ve it was m if Virginia hftd committed KV-flnffdeCi
1 ].!:. life had given him 10 bum fa
sin, i"d rather thai ihe girl whom he loved had died

. thing; and he mourned her m one
. hut dead •■•■ obscure Main of sin on her toaots

jwrity.

To Lad] however it was the brightest bit of news that

..ard for many a long day. It was just what it should have

. she said with jubilant condemnation. The cloven hoof had at

If; and if those poor wrt re sinful they were at

least self-confessed. It was what she had prophesied all along; and

ras right? and ought r.ut thai popish vicar of Crosabobne to

bednu 1 like the rogue he was? Proi

had a tremendous lift by this secession t
ng been wanting to compkU 0r*»" anno

Beans which
the »'■ iturc.

what was tiic
hard, whom indeed it struck on ever As a landowner

bad lioi>cd to leave this imj>ortant estate in pro] is, and

284

754* Gentlematis Magazine.

to die knowing that his daughter was canning on the traditions of
Other, and that Ringrove was as faithful a steward, as devoted
a husband, and as true a liberal as he himself had been ; as a father,
great part of whose happiness had been bound D hild;

as a philosopher working for the good of his kin
and falsehood, and living only to extend knowledge and give 1
light and liberty;— on all sides he was wounded to the heart, and —
he scarcely acknowledged this to himself— found himself unable to
forgive Hermione. Her own defection, horrible to him u it was,
maddening, humiliating in every sense, was more specially a personal
offence, therefore easier to l>e home ; but that she should have \ I
herself such a bad care-taker child was a crime; and he could

not pardon her the destruction of the life which it was her assigned
duty to protect

" It is the logical outcome of all this pitiful mummery in * I
you have wilfully indulged," he said bitterly, when Hermione handed
him the letter and he read in it Virginia's painful announcement.
" The child is the only honest person among y©r

" No ! it is a dreadful mistake ! " said Hermione. " To go into
the Roman Church, so loaded with error, is a s u

'• What matters a few grains more or less of dust to those who
arc in the sandstorm?" he said. "You arc blinded, choked, de-
stroyed, one as well as the other, and the details arc of reijf little
moment. The Pope's infallibility or Mr. Lasccllcs' ! For my own |;art
I should prefer the former if 1 must have one. I lie child is d>-
ua now for all time, and you, her mother, who should have proi
her "

He checked himself, got up and went to the fireplace, where bo
I, leaning his face on his arm.

" I am so sorry, Richard," she sail! penili
to him as she spoke : and indeed she was very sorry and ashamed
as well.

He did not answer. 1 le could not comfort her, and he did not
wish to reproach her.

" I had no idea of what was going on," she continued after a
short pause, wondering at his silence. " I never could have bclicted
that Sister Agnes could have been so deceitful or that Father Truseoti
was such a hypocrite. You believe me, don': y : J ? "

She laid her hand on his shoulder and intent: : iwed her

fingers to touch his hair. She would turn and take

her to him as he had done on the night when he went away. Judging
of the present by the past she thought that he would be overjoyed,

Under which Lord?

285

■ pec

I with gratitude, for this flight circus, this half-timid act of

lity— that he would be responsive even beyond what she

I haw dared to encourage. But he did not move. His face

I downwards on his arm, and his hands were clasped in

'Richard," she said softly, trying to unclasp his hands. " I

r nothing of it all I " she pleaded. " I had no suspicion of what
ijoing on, and would not have believed it if I had been told ,
1 bd Mr. I jscelles. I am so sorry, dear ! so grieved ! what am

I to help you ? I know how much you suffer ; and I am so un-

7, too — so lonely ! so wretched ! "

Here she broke down and burst into tears. She was indeed at
laooent most unhappy, and scarcely knew what would give her

Her husband raised his head, and in his turn laid his hand on
Aonlder.

- There is only one thing that you can do," he said, in an unsteady
"renounce all this present folly, and come back to your
idf and your true duty. We have lost our child, but we can
together our own live* so that they shall be honourable tad
It depends only on you, Hermione. I am what I was, tad
I was — it is you who have moved from the old ground. Come
to mc and right reason, wife, and let us forget this miserable
of estrangement in a new and happier union."
I cannot give up the Church nor make myself an atheist," said
iC with a frightened look ; " 1 will do anything else for you,
but I must keep to my own religion."
Then you cannot keep mc," he said, taking his hand from her
Religion with you means being the subservient creature
Lascclles ; and while you arc that you can be no comfort to
you can be no more to me than what you are, and that is —

Am I really nothing to you, Richard? no comfort? no help?"
lifting her blue eyes to him softly, tenderly, full of reproach
harshness unmerited. " Do you say that 1 am nothing to you
f she repeated.

Whai should you be ? " he answered slowly. " Neither
friend, neither companion nor sympathizer, what are
icoc, but the witness of another man's triumph and my own

Do not speak of Superior as a man — he is a priest and my
lor : " said Hermione.

laid,

286

The Gentleman's Magazine.

He turned his eyes on her with a flash of scorn and indignation,
ilve over your conscience with parent pretence, if

you will : " he said contemptuously ; " hut leave me the- bitter and
humiliating truth I "

look and tone made her tremble. She was a woman whom
a man's anger terrified ; and like all long-suffering people, Richard's
wrath when roused was terrible. And then, sophisticate as she
would, her conscience was inwardly uneasy ; for. thoufc
cclles was a priest, Richard was her husband ; and a husband is, or
ought to be, a sacred circumstance in a woman's life, not to be
removed at another man's biddiv by side with »:

was the tremendous fact of confession, whereby she was indeed made
Mr. I. steelier' creature and slave by her belief in his spiritual jw
and alxjve all, there was Richard's hideous agnc

" Then you will not gffe up that mock jiapist priest for me? " he
asked again, after ■ short silence. " It is one or • fj you

must choose between 111

" It is not Mr. i whom I will not give up; it is the

Chiu

" Confession .1 to

come between husband and wife— to rob the parents of tr*
to another man, call him priest or what you will
sacred feelings of your heart, t
you, a wife, submitting to the indelicacy of inqui- ns, to

■hgnity of regulations — is all this part of tr
Herraione? — all this necessary to your church life?"

onfession is necessary," she said faltering. " Without con.
fession there is no absolution, and without the absolution 'of the
Church no pardon or salvation."

" My poor child I " be said with sudden softness. " And they
have brou, b pittfal i I U nothing be

done for you? I us botb

you arc more deserving of con

ot for my faith— that is adon," ».

weeping.

" Then we need say no more," he returned .-fag

::h as you call it — 1 y< remain as we were,

divided. I do not care to share your love I
miserable fragments as he allows ; and until yoi
•ctter that you should stand
The lo- ly the natural coru- f the

loss of the-, own will-

Under which Lord?

287

She stood as if irrcv tea he turned to go to his soli-

tary study, the scene of his present anguish as it had once h<

rest pleasures. As he posed through the doorway, she made
a few steps forward.

fine back I " s! rod softly.

Hut he did not hear her ; and when he had fairly gone, and the
door wa* shut between them, Hermionc gasped, as at a danger
ttfeiy got over ; — What would Superior have said had she become
reconciled to Iter infidel husband, and consequently false to him, her
i*l director ? When the thought of the confession which would
have had to be made she literally trembled ; but when she r>
the »t which she had suffered her home to be brought she

cried ; and between the two irreconcilable opposite* felt herself tin-
most miserable woman in the world.

Chapter XXVI I.

Tiif times were hard for Mr. Laacelles, but he kept a firm front

through his difficulties and gave the enemy no cause to rejoice by

any : weakness or even of dismay. I I iiulig-

'<* roue to the height ol and on tl ly follow-

lection ol iple, and the

preached against the errors

M her communion as strongly as

d been preaching ai 1 inllerton's infidelity and

prcsumi ' rcrs in general. The only one

whom he spare d id her he excused under the guise

the inn Big seduced by the false guides in whom they

ad placed their mist But for the mature who had known the

•leased truth of Anglicanism, and now had gone over to the R01

• od, he had no strictures that were too sev. :

The personal application of hi* fiery disc ourse was of course easy

gh to make ; unded outspoken and sincere ; but it clid

1 oncile the Protestant part of the community to the easting

l of things. As they persisted in seeing in Ritualism the first step to

am, and the vicar as nothing but ajesnil in disguise, they could

nal, and do
.0 well. The f the more

sober : 'overt papistry of their

parson— as thej d it to be— had never threatened to be so

288 The Gentleman's Magazine.

severe as now when he was fulminating against the
these three iniporcin: erf hi- own community had seceded,

and of which he dcnoinx ed '!"• deadly error* while running his own
ecclesiastical lines exactly parallel.

Hut they could dn little or nothing now. Wait till the church
should be opened and the services conducted therein according
tew code, and then see what they wwili

Undoubtedly the times were unpleasant ; and the Honourable
and Reverent! Lninc.tlor I .isrclles needed all ! ■■• to tide I

over the did oojfofl oi the boor.

What ". ■■'• bit loss the urn nod

the lOtofthe • ;• the N\ bought thfa

good opportunity I or "inm; iermionc Fullcrton to safety and

common '"*t tlie i

pure if mistakes they thought she must have lost the

main impulse to her own rel fc. They I believe that

she had suffered the inlluenee of Mr to become the main*

spring of her anions, Religini sm was bad enough, i

personal fascination was worse. The one was a folly but the other
was a crime; and they would not charge her with tl now

whei 1 proved by sad experk: illy

vould surely be frightened and tain refuge 0
self and her dangers in the society of ha
the iiitual staff was broken, and the beginning of the end at

-I

" 1 1 ifl nidi a pity, dear ! I am so sorry for it all I *' said
Neshitt with friendly sympathy, when she went to pay i| of

condolence to the bereaved mother, whose case she . d worse

than that of one who had lost her child by death.

The words might be trivial enough . bui the kind and

softened voice of her who uttered them gave them a charm w'i
med them from their intl

<aid Hermtone, her eye* full of tear". an awful

perversion

" But wl have been expected," said Mrs, N<

" Sorry as 1 was to hear it, I cannot say I
surprise."

•• 1 was," returned Hcrmione. "And I e of Virgmia

than anyone else."

hose who stand nearest sec k
sanl " and to us who do not go all the *

Ritualism should lead to Romanism seems just as n.'

Under which Lord?

289

acdrdiould bring forth flowers. Volts is the seed; and the Romish
Qurcn blows that as well as wc do. ■

"If you understood our faith you would not say such a thing as

lia.' uid Hermione. " We abhor the error* of Rome ; and while

•trtcognire the good thai is in her, and Ac measure of grace which

ccoottins, we hate hex perversions and refuse her traditions. Wt

back 10 the truth in its purity, and she has gone aside

and error.3

do not see much difference between ytM," persisted Mrs.

with a woman's pertinacity of assertion and a passing

Hermiom v. " The great difference is

Rome is consistent anil you are not ; and that those who have

1 bom into the Romish Church have excuses for their supersti-

t which you have not. But do not let us talk of all this, dear;

nhill never agree, and it is not necessary that we should. \\ bat

I do to help you ? You and I were young wives and mothers

and I feel as if you were my sister. If such a thing

:to happen to one of my children, I think it would break my

ban-

"It would break mine but for the help that I get through the
hbnd Church," said Hcrmionc courage

See must not let them think her less than dutiful because
^"nnu had been seduced from the right way. She must still hold
fcto the truth and Mr. Laseelles: — was she not his penitent, and
hdsbe not given him in of her very soul ?

"Ireh I beard you say, dear, that you got help from that dear
husband of > '•Irs. Ncsbitt's characteristic :c-

"Poor Richard! he can do nothing forme, and nothing for himself,

r he thinks as he does," she answered, a CI rl h/ softness

! through the hard spiritual superiority of her tone " I The did
Ktdsuch dreadful opinions .is he doe* perhaps this would never
! happened. Virginia would have been able then to have con-
m, when she ■ in to waver; and he would have

her and have saved her."
"She did not confide in you, her mother," N'csbitt

I am only a woman," said llermionc simply.
1 Bin now that you are alone at home, and, as Miss Laseelles is not
vou cannot be so much at the Vicarage, I do hope that you
I come and see us, and that wc may come and see roil as in old
nes,- said >ch old f e, we ought to

r more of each other than wedo, and our friendship should not be

CCXLV. So. I-Sj. U

290 Th< Gentleman s :nc.

allowed lo die OHt

for a i>i'

that the coolness h.

with the world is <•

it 1 am not thi med Mr

am only x quiet, easy-going, \v

your old friend. < 1 on, It

has lasted too long already. btcft reason for it.

Come to us as you used. Come to di 1
dc.tr old days— you and your husba:
! affliction for you, still we 1
painfully: unci, at all events, there is noth
of poor \ dreadful At live

tlie Molyneuu, you must ) led al every turn ' .ig»

" You are very, very ki': I icrmionc

She knew thai would he ill-pleast'

the

this kind

hoi: (tatcd.fchcad '.aacdks

hi* <
saic-tl exck

b, and we 1, her

comnutK
ii ni
make

1 1 * .lie- wa

Ncs:

ntorv would j
!iat you j-S.> 1 hurch-peopk,

' ' " ' ..••■i'.. -• 1 •■ ■ '-• I what i-.c »as uyinti .1.:

'ii»»l what &!■

'• li w^'> tltr !{■■•

■

Under which Lord?

291

it lying. H< . very sad, very much changed iu

itocUitfcv weeks ; for not even Richard himself had grieved more

linn be hid done for that which was substantially the death of Virginia.

Tkwgh he did not feel it 3 sin yet he did hold it for shame that Vir-

boold have done this thing, and done it with so much duplicity

ud nut of candour. Lost to them forever as she had become by her

Kt,hc»oulcl rather that she had died in reality. It would have been less

teaWetfan the knowledge of this living entombment ia the heart of

dreary 1 ulmination of falsehood and fnaatii ism.

"And;.' me too, Ringrovc ? " .. 1 1< 1 M;-. \i sbttt with in-

teooiul abruptness as he came

She guessed how things were with him and Hermione, and that

I meeting would be painful.
"Where?" he asked, holding Hcrmione's hand but looking at Mrs.

■ntst

"Todinewidi us to-morrow. This darling here and Mr. PulIcttOO
"teeming," was Mrs. Nesbilt's positive assertion of R v.i u ■ po

pleasure. Mis. I'ullcrton knows how much I value her
J, and nowhere more than at your house/' said Ringr»
Injje hastiness in his voice as he pressed the soft hand held in
*.ad looked at her with his frank bloc eves.'softer and darker than

Hermione turned aside her head.

cry good to us," she said with a little sob.

1, i<iittii»fi; hi: comfortable anai about net, mure
.- than a woman not much older than hem If, believed
*« the conqut-s suied, and thai Mr* I ullertOB was now

*rffrom Ritualism and Mi. 1

Bribe look oi belief was tint quite 80 wild

*a#ithave been thought. For nothing Stirs a woman 10 much as
*feence— except it is oppo Virginia's Bight, and

"tut attempt at fall reconi part, Richard had

'lid that he
their pr. and would not again

to disturb them. Always courteous he had ceased to be
Jways gentle he was never tender. Now that she was alone
,sadc it a matter of duty to be much with her ; to go out with her —
>kis presence was not too patently displease with bet

tercning ; to t.ilk to her durin butallthi try as a

Xo word, no look betraj id mi 1 ious good

of a pleasant acquaintance ; while running through it all

292

The Gentletnan's Magazine.

was a curious thread of manly d if what he did wan at ranch

i i the ■' t of a gentleman in the fulfilment of hit duty, as

from affection for the woman whom he had once loved better than
his pride or his life. He never touched or. > termed

ionhSsgin indite never

alluded to Virginia noi :use he wished to focg-r

to banish her, but bee -iding reproach ag..

his wife ; and to speak of his daugh*. i.i, to condemn

mother. It was the dullest life that could be imagined, and the
noel . clory ; but H had studied how best i

his wife and incline her to him again, he could rtcr

inied, sorry, lonely, her life shorn of its former full inlc-
and the natural pride of her womanhood |>i m in earnest

where formerly much had been made up and more ima-

gined, she felt the indifference of her discard .md almost as

acutely as if she had never transferred her allegiance from him to Mr
Ltti A never found the excitement of i romance

more satisfying than the monotony of married security. Hts secu-

<lUt; on tented and uncomfortable ; his acqu
in the severance v. mV had decreed, made her long to

briQg ..eras of old.

" I suppose Ri re no objection," she -

to tl»e question of that din I I beOS

' in .ivk bint," she added with her old manner o-
» the days when only one will was between them, and that
was his.

" I Him." sjid Ringrosc, also in the

ise— that place which had ever boa
undcr-.un.lmg, and which, curiously enoi . i as

*>as now restored i -sa.

" y/hm a good dear fcDow thv
youn, was heard clanking through the hall.

<aid Herotioi w ardent

at this moment that Virginia had

■
former calm rejWK. rngedto. adoos

rac now :
>rd showed oris w» plainly how dec

mounded
'<■•. sodden pain when she lookr
* he wvs ; and how latterly mh

Under which Lord? 293

the whole school to which he belonged, for the mischief and misery

'• Dine with you to-morrow? no, I thank you," he said in a
weary way. arcely in tone i<>r ■ dinner."

1 >nly your two selves and Ringrove Hardisty," urged Mr*.
itt " I: is like your own home, you know, Mr. I '.:ii< -rti.n, and
jroti have not been for so long."

" Will you not go. Richard?" said Hcrmionc. halt" timidly.
" If you wish it, >;» by all means," he said with a slight air of
surprise.

" Not without you," she returned. " 1 should like to k° very

much, but only with K r pretty eves with ■

reision that once womV. ECO the heart out

rove lookedat him anxiously ; Ml t fan of compassion.

" If you would like it, certainly I will go with yon, he said

gravely, after a moment's pause; but no light came into his face, no

nto his eyes j he yielded out of respect for her wishes, bul only

as a gentleman yield* to a lady— not as a loving man to a beloved

woman.

Hen shed painfully. She foil the difference which both

iitt divined ; and thought her husband cruel

and unkind to be so cold when she would been on more

friend She had all the modem woman's belief that it

belongs to her alone to set the lines between herself and thl

whose name she bears; and that hers is the commanding voice

its only the echo. She had discarded him when

pressed by Mr. Lasccllc* to do *o ; now, when she would have

drawn nearer to him in ,, she was to her own mind an

1 wife in that he kept in the place which she had assigned to

gained the day so far however, that they both went to the
house of Lsodicea as if they had been the friends they were long
ago ; and Hermione, carried back to her former self by a sudden
»wcep of old-time emotions, said when she left that she had not
been SO happy for years. This was a long pull on the |»rt of the
woman ; but it was the truth in substance if beyond the mark
Itunce.

When Mr Laxcellcs heard of this act of virtual, if not In
disobedience, he showed so much manly pathos of personal sorrow,
and he expressed so much righteous indignation at the falling away
from grace of one whom he had believed secure, that Hermione was

294 The GentUmatCs Magazine.

partly softened and partly frc »nd made to feci that the was

a backslider who had to be contrite ami I she woi:i

red to favour and fo; r offences. Mr. Lascclles

fulminated against that dinni had been the unpardonable

sin ; and that quiet moral wholesome English family a mere Sni
of witches, in whose unholy re i vessel o

paled. II • a child asking forgiveness ;

when he I out the i

and put the rod lui corner.

\z for the futm irt of

cobodied in an Aeto! Contrition, was to ^ve for the
use of the bi five hundr

rather more thai 'ssigncd allowance ; and

for t: is in debt to the bank.

'I lie effect Of thai cheque was to make the I

by that ami
ing a renewal of depo lid be

time certain i i
settled months ago began now to i nd Hcnnu

not add up a day-book correctly, for the fu
herself in a financial difBci dared not

husband, and could by herself; and wherein Saperia

ither help nor comfort. It was part of his play to gel her int"
this i -it, that h< ud hold oj

through her rear.

scelles tii
with tl %uhUc r.

a certain
B ni" her husl
Director, had done his bi n and

it i
Things could not y too weak :<>

to herself, and wot
Iter husband it" ..ruin fo:

icnt unless she «■

weaken. must r

iur»c. V 4ded,

Under -chick Lord?

295

I hfrr heart was to her husband. He s.iw ii. lelt

*,bewii, in every line and movement of her body, every look of
fcrnes, every word of her mouth. The shock of Virginia's deter-
*■ had set the pendulum swinging to the other side, and he knew
*>t, units* he Ik days of power wen- numbered.

fore he drew out Ml ' in of attack, and laid it on his

:y precious friend "i mine," he said to her one day
*>puy afn Rood Churthvoma&j and I need

lostvalnal rough — Mr;. Everett j

Everett— want ne here 1 told ha thai yon would

her at the Abl>ey. She knows all aboat your trials and
, and I shall be glad for you to b I i She will bfl

"Nimble to you, lor. ceding coo potion '

"Thanl: iiit 1 1 •.•r:n mne, with feigned cordi-

: thai be had BQt made this arr. i

i deal fit whom she could not help loving in

Swterfber wari id Ringrovc and 13cc were almost

•* Corn it the Abbey as they used to bfl 1 more ago. And

'heaihcwas sure that this Mrs. Everett would not be congenial to
WdanJ— poor Richard ! he had suffered so much already, she really
^Mtlfte to give him any more pain.

Mr. lasccllcs looked at her sharply. He evidently expected her
Bttrmorc than that mere bald word of thanks, and he seemed to
■teaand her thougr

"nl» is she like?" asked l and with a

""•an'* instil.. looey.

'She is beautiful," replied Mr. 1 iceiles with fervour.

The pretty woman's soft pink eheei I tned into a luddefl I id,

^ >le held her slender neck a trifle stiffly.

"I* mind if not in person," continued her Director. "Spiritually,

e is as near perfection as a sinful mortal can be : and when you

** her you will say so and love ha Ifl I do."

"Iimsure I shall," she returned in a 1 onstrained voice, looking

•"Jod feeling that she should hate her instead. And after all,

^•Superior was — Superior — it her a liberty that he had

»*as it not ? seeing that now — Whal ? — Seeing that deep down

■h heart of her; was the unacknowledged wbh to become

I to her husband, and the mora] < rrtarnty that if left alone

■^•wild become thus reconciled. But she did not put this into m

•W« ill that had been between her and Superior — after the holy

life,

296

The Gentleman's Magazine.

love thai I mlually confessed, a love so lwly as to be without

sin or shame— after the authority that he had claimed and the

obedience that she had paid- isMgnnvent to him of her con-

science and th. h she had mad

;in arrangement proposed for to do

otherthonaoceptit with apparent gratitude nod real. mitt

up into his face while saying to herself with
" How shall I ei reak it to Ri.

•• if you will be guided by me,"
Bothia led— "will you, my child?"— he put in imiliD;

as if heplayfully doubted and seriously trusted.

, red, also smiling, but wi
an odd little quiver of affectation in her eagerness.

" Well, then, | [vice. Say nothing to Mr. Fullcrton un

the bow of nfxa Everett's arrh 11 him tlut she is cotnS

and that you arc going to Starton 1 .r — as of course you will

do:

" And you do not think this will be too abrupt ? " she asked
union

"Ob I if you wish to spare tags so vei

bettC 1 onsent, and abide by his. decision," said Mr. I -astcll

with rough contempt. " I thought you had regained enough sel

t by now to be able to ask a lady friend to stay with yotl
short time without going on your knees to yout husband for his per-
minion. And 'uisband !— to whom all things godly and of

good repute arc abhorrent. But I do not wish to guide you against
your i you think best. I have but one desire—

your temporal happiness and spiritual well-being. And wbctl
desire oppresses you I will withdraw in

" No, I do not wish you to withdraw your care. You arc my best
friend," said Hermkmc, humbled to the point where lie wished
be brought. " I will do as you tell me, and say nothing abou
•tt till I go to bring tier from the station."

milcd and leaned forward to look the better into bcr eyes.
" Sweet child I " he murmured tend. • world would be

blank to me, if, after having known the truth, you were to bee
backslider and lapse into error. But you will keep firm, wi
not ? You will not give the enemy of souls power over you

i weakness for the infidel to whom the law ha* givm the name
iisbond ? Remember again what I ha 1
I Or man, salvation : destroctioi

or Satan and your husband. You cannot ha isuha

Under which Lord? 297

«w dun yon can breathe pure air in a foul pit. You must make
P" Action— as you have — and abide by your decision — as you

°»es," said Hermione. " I will always be guided by you."
He took her hand.

''You vow that on the Cross?" he said at once sternly and
"Pfy " You will always be guided by me ? "
"Yes," she said, trembling.

"I will soon put you to the test," he said, letting her hand fall
■ddenly. " When I do, remember your oath, your vow of obedience
*urn on the Cross ! "

(To be continued.)

2 98

The Gentleman's Maga

MISS J IINKS.

II i:N the Da theory of the origin of living specks

and other theories of evolution were yet in lhcir infancy,
of the pn cd notor.

not fame. The cm l ! :lic hypotheses of evolution w

slow to fix upon" miss i and their nature, their assumed

titt of
ijainst «i<
in which []

phrase found favour in the eyes oj of an tinsciem

Did ladies of: > '

lerDani in n of Spcci tdedly dangerous l

and who regard ma the literal

works of darkness in the most literal sense 01 '» worn

who would have Ik en a»kc<!

ol a i
nevenheK nth much

the gaps in •_ nd I

orgumu early days < we

Where are the missing links? rwini

and i, not to s]

It is inn too much '•!) with the lapse o

tl*e letter understanding by cultured persons at Ian

i rfa tly understood
undi

tnds, the i

lerefore matters for car

aid the solution ol

Missing Link 299

■deuoui in oik- phase to solve — the how and why of living Nature

The widespread recognition, even in the popular mind, of the
Ofomnce of the discovery of " missing 1; ting

ipcciesof animals, in so far as the welfare of cvolution-ii
tonol. i.iciilt to trace or account for. Taking for grant

lb* nay reasonable and obi theory of i

■wt rest uj*on the idea of tl •■■• by the

Mdifcuinn of the a . lhal in oai examination of lit

Mine re should inneetion between

of life in d np to man,

tbcctoruxk many

■ppow, a one straight as rafter the idea of

..igs,
*hs*. I in their lower & Now,

BMpemiMc. wh< . round el of animal

•ndpti H ii,re,

«nd connected rclationahip? The common tttlre,

■** Ut ipc.il: of

■*■*?' i at on©

• *cf6fM»n! !i into groups and

of varying rilc in the scale of creation. In

eath targe group we bet Of lower divisions, the

nunber* of which arc uni itain common cliaracters. Hut

the smallest of ott rders, the gaps betwbrt the

form-, are in.. .erve her pro-

doe* not ap]>ear to supply • 'in the existing

In that ; torn of the animal world

% the Vhiehraia,—ox the ten
'*weii iirds and

I estates and ranks, and
""ft toad*, the lower or<J of vette-

•inte i g between the various classes are very

ftfltand clear to the merest tyro in natural history. Not even the
PtoWrl'. marked T in the n

•tfctts lory, oi towards a literal interpretation of the

100 : i ertain wondrous btttt

rought to enti riously the idea of the

of an urinal half-rcpti ird ; and, still less, of a

between the bird and th<
jokers — a rat
matters. • extinct— might tx > sale in chal-

300

The GentUmaiCs Maga

ino£~

Icnging zoologists at large to produce the iwccn

man and his nearest animal relations ; or to show on 1 •■
hypothesis the various stages in the < >dagc,

upon the disappearance of which that ed to

rounded n's physical and moral

Amongst lower forms of life the gaps are equal n, and the

■mued distinctness of each species would seem to argue po
n favour of the "special creation" of lite van©
of animals and plants, and against th<

species on< Bother. The arguin visible?

between even nearly-related h crefore too

apparent to be overlooked by popular critics of <
was also too important to be made light of by c

ict now, distinct always,
duly expressed regarding the nature of sp
the historical controversy regarding their origin. i>e vat-

I, therefore, to find Mr. Darwin, in speaking of tin

ion to his theory, " namely, the distinctness: of sj
and then not bein| blended together by innumerable
sitional inks, is a very obvious difficulty ;" and agai
all nature in d "I" the S| la wc sec

d ? " Alike grave, then, to 'menu

Let us endeavour to examine this
i 00 in the light of !■ Ictcmuning

to which side the balance of evidence duly weighed will lead

Amongst the procedures rommonls d in our courts of

law then is one which i : . uking

an objection to the relevancy of the rect The

essential feature of that procedure iiercatl

parties showing that certain parts of the M ode

live opposing side involve items y be abs

incorrect, and which thcrcfot' \punged from

of matters involving litigation, In this way the details of a lawsuit
become simplified, and the chariot-wheels of justice are enabled to roll
easily onwards in that glorious case and uncertainty of movement
which is one of the most ancient if also ur
of legal science and practice. The contention befor. esent

one respect admits of its issues being amended throu
to their relevancy. I points for discus :ho*e

cerning the need for "missing links" o« ne theory

and the ability or
l-ct us SUpp06i

rhc

Missing Links,

30!

moves the relevancy of these point*. The following v. ill be Mi Hue.
of argument :- ' duce die links,'

or transitional forms between v the

.id in fun. i| dear wc must

in the existing world, or in the I

life-systems of the

|ast. We shall I try to demonstrate that whatever

nccgcolof ill in our favour, and that where a

■-, such deficiency i- no fault of ours, but

depends on the ' imperfection of the geological record." But there

an equally important consideration for our opponent-, in the

ea in which at <luced

lently obviate the necessity for the • ■ link-.

and transitional forms. This latter contention can be supported by

n this preliminary point— namely, the
and natural absence of i
werr

h i' •••.then, til ilil, by the lav a the very

nature of : of sjiccict by evolution, or bj Mr. Dvwm'a

PWXSpkf: ction "- 1c to be discussed on a

ftasre occasion— 3b tional forms conn

«wfaig ipccics ? Mr Da eply to this question is a negative.

TV >ii a or species which appear will tend, by the

dioon* nf evolution, to present improvements on the spec its

•led litem . and, on the principle that "the weakest JO to the
"H" ll itors of existing many case* hi

i fd ih. in
'•wik i.e." The pan

will fail in the with its

unproved con-
■station, wc may na the parent-form and the ti

il links to have become exterminated, tarwin rem

the very process of on of the. new

But extinct anin able to lie preserved as "fossili '

Its compot crust of the earth, and yet *mi

tab "arc onions. Thi 1

mentioned and the reason assigned in the
fragmentary condition od im Neglecting the

jeofail' the nonce, it might still be contended that

• ited by us to-day should lie more closely con-
nected rh-i re their creation by evolution and descent a

302

The GcniUmaiCs Mago

N<>. th of the evoluti •■ < showing th_

such connecting s]

a nutter of course, and tl absence i:

able- to his views and opinions. < -*■

case of the origin of tfo< — rk,

that of tl: •_-.'

The various brei OUT hot knows

are the pouters, fantails, can d tumblers, may b<

regarded as having descended from the Rock-pigeon (C^/umim

•iifTcrcnr\
so markc<! OB an:

state and I , they would iuve been

l% mere '•varieties"
of one species — K i arc the different

in feather .

•. therefore, U a mi ngin of nci

of new specie I .oj

will show us the futility oft' d that the original storl

resemble the dew ■ gin. Thai

no ni

two of the four breeds just mentioned, or that any I
races— say the •. I pouters— should

lions of thechi

ons and
II the pigeons which h..
lime of tl. .to the i

group them in I i verging from the

.•ecu:
en by so:: i
culm

have hear :

. i
races,

pensaicd?— for loroeauc-

Missing Links.

303

1 be noticed ; but its gradual and lodifica-

ough uncoiu- .ergence,

r in the sai< distant, countries into two

strains, and their gradual conv to sub-breeds, and

into well-marked ttt urely be

The death ts (tained gigantic dimensions

ded ; the slow growth of smaller trees and t ii •_• : r increase 111

•cite no attention.'"

The true view of the matter really consists in our recognising

! the likeness and relation of new species or races to their parent-

1 depend* on the circumstances of human observation and on

euct lines alon^ which the lias proceeded Occa-

>•, each likeness is appat •

Joproent of the new species, it is non- existent. Nor must wc
fi 00c all-important consideration, which, according to Professor
Mr. Darwin hai (looked it 11

nt fact, hereafter to be nole<lf that, despi 1 innxan

Nature may and sometimes
(take not merely l>ut ■ running leap from one species

What would be thought of the history of the Aneot
tiheep, which about the close of last century was born <

1 ewe as the progeny of an equally CO e male parent,

, along with fourteen other ewe?, th • certain Seth

1 a Massachusetts farmer? This Ancon sheep differ 1 d

roin its parents and from the ovine race at large, in posscss-
lUrgc body and proportionally short legs. For sundry reasons con-
I with the over-live!. 1 long-legged sheep in leaping

t their fences, W right from ihi due time,

I a whole flock nf pure Otter sheep ; the breed being allowed to
out on the introduction ■ of the Merino sheep. Presuming
, in ignorance of it'- true and "rigin, the history of the

breed had been made the subject of biological speculation,
I the demand for " missing links," and the evolutionist's
to reply to the demani been ronstrucd? Simply as

the transmutation cf th< ipeciea or race, and as against

origin of the Ancon by the variation and modification of the
' sheep. And yet the Ancon race had certainly uning

modification, such as utterly precluded the possibility Of
'connecting links" having been developed or required
. considci unit, will tend to weaken therein-

teinand t iks" and transitional forms, Hut it

be worth our while to hear a little further testimony 01

304

The Gentleman s Magazine.

I«5

cad-

point Taking Mr. Darwin's own example*, we find him citi
instance of a journey from north to so ::ne««

in the course of which we meet with closely related or represcntati i
species which represent each other in their respective region* <J
habitats. Such species are found to meet and interlock, and there-
after, as our journey proceeds, one species is found to become lew
frequent, until it is completely replaced by the other, Kven in i
nion or middle region where these two species intermingle,
icnt of the one group are as absolutely distinct from the other,
as if had been selected for comparison from the head'

quarters of m ; Vet, nys Darwin, " by my theory, these

altered species arc descended from a common parent ;" each in the
process of descent having exterminated the parent species and also
the transitional forms. Once again— leaving the extinct and fo-,
species out of consideration for the present—: dofi crop* ••

why do the species not intermingle in the middle region, with inter-
module renditions of life ? Here geology steps in to reconcile the
I>ancy. Because your continent is continuous from north to
south to-day, it is not lawful to infer that this continuity of land-
surface alv i d. Changes of land, and the separation of even
our great continents into detached portions of territory, arc not theo-
ts of geology. And, admitting the existence of separate
da or disconnected portions of land-surface, tl

h separation, and the absence of intermediate
accounted for. Nor must it be lost sight of that the
neutral territory Or "No Man's land" common to two spec
'v small and ill-defined as compared with the wider tcrri:
area of the distribution of each group. And again, t!i
n of a species, and its power of con

<l by the range of moo

md already well-defined groups. The species will be preyed upon
bytbeM Utter groups, and the tendt:
nearest allies is thus lessened and limited ; v, fact has

y noted that the narrow and limited character of t!
area is bv ,s favourable to a I

Conversely, in a larger area, with
• ompetition from oi
5 the maximum of i
mben alone, attaining a marked and
■ do the reprv-

irface. Each tu*»
- hand," and

Missing Links.

305

by surrounding conditio ays, without mixing with

neighbouring group-

e preliminary observations on the theory
inks " .ire by no means so necessary on a fair showing of
Nature's ways and polity as might be supposed, wc may submit,
firstly, that the favourable variation of a q occss,

depending not merely on changes in the constitution of the included
animals or plants, but on many other external causes, IDCfa as <:hanges
of cli. id the like. Secondly, in connection with thi .

discouragement to the mixing of specific cluracters, wc must re-
member that detachment of land-surfaces will account for the
absence of intermediate forms, and in cases where such forms have
existed, they would be developed, as wc have seen, in fewer numbers
than the species they would tend to connect ; lesser numbers imply
ing few cliances of either actual or geological preservation.

But wc may not forget that up to the present stage wc ha* e I
mcrcK iing for the relevant y of the indictment.

our ol 10 the invariable necessity for "missing links" have

<!, there •.■■ tany instances n

.1 freely admit

j or actually, for the support The

hich the evoluii .plies the

ence of numerous links; the chief question relating to the exact

gCCCM ided and I rJOD

mother, What is or was the exact sequence and

potent? Suppose Mr, Browning to be as correct in

of the " Descent of Man " as he is— judged by

Unary rion— absolutely incorrect, when he

1 hwangau "—

Thit maw man spring from wai 1 jelly lump

( 1 kept .hi lAei course

Thr\iu(;h fiili uid betel, reptile, bird,

10 be Jin ape at lost

Or I < ,—

to thi 1 tlioa, hu

ily connecting link
stage of :> lhe"aftei .md also

en the si -.i tagcaof which that" oft< ileged

. an

avalu. I 1 in

to remark that the sequence and succession

-iicd by the n hological of modern poets, are

a >;8j. x

306

The Gentleman's Magazine.

certainly not those held by Mr. Darwin, or by any other
biologist. Man's descent from the gorilla — the chief clement in ttj
evolutionist's creed .is propounded by popular notions and by a dakj
m.uic but unlearned theology — is, after .ill, but " the baseless fabric •
a vision, from which a better acquaintance with the facts of nature a^
with theories explanatory of tin i ill most effectually awaken xi

unconvinced. The knowledge of what evolution really teaches sum
reasonably demands constitutes, therefore, the first condition for asctr.
tuning what" missing links "arc required. To bridge over the gulf bo
tween the gorilla or any other anthropoid ape and the human type, nay
be the mental banc and lifelong worry of unscientific minds contorti^r
the demands of evolution — such a task is certainly no business or lib©*
of Mr. Darwin and his followers, or of any other school of erolurioo.
And Mr. Darwin, writing in his " Descent of Man," and after t
(.view of man's theoretical origin, is careful to add. " bat we roast I
fall into the error of supposing that the early progenitor of the
in (or ape-like) stock, including man, was identical with, or <
ij resembled, any existing ape or monkey." We must, inl
look backward* along the " files of rune " to the point whence, I
a common origin, e branch to

its own peculiar line of growth and development on the great trod
life.

Thus much by my of caution in alleging how or what "i
links " are to be supplied. The contention that, cren on the sho
of i! :. the connecting links between distinct groups <

living beings are nut supplied even to the extent he himself i

n uf Mr. Darwin already quoted, i
"the imperfection of the geological record." No I colqpi

more patent than Uiat, to use Sir Cliarles I .yell's words, "it HI
part of the phtn of Nature to write everywhere, and at all times, I
autobiographical memoirs. On the con this

distinguished scienti t, "her annals arc local U lioiul

the first, and portions of the) r wards ground into mud, i

and pebbles, to furnish materials for new strata." The very |
Ol rock formation consists in the rc-arrangcmcnt of the
previously formed materials, and the manufacture of new
implies the destruction of the old with the included "loss.
; iitec The geological series is thus certainly a detached and i
tinuous collection of formations, interrupted by gaps of coo
and often undeterminable extent Of the contemporaneous lii
tory of the globe, during the periods of time repi , such 4

we have no record whatever. But even when the materials for I

Missing Links.

307

■■ of any past period of our globe are found in

tolerable plenty, the record is never complete. " V7e COO never hope,"

i yell in a roost emphat* is the sequence of

rock-form it history by gatnerin

gcthcr monuments which were origins]!) I and scattered over

i' .; specks of organic beings contcmporaii'
inhabiting remote regions are distinct, the fossils of the first of seven]
periods which may be pn in any 0:1c country, as in America,

•ample, will have no ccfrvicution frith those of a second period
found in India, and will, therefore, no more enable us to Mi
signs of a gradual change in the 1 ition, than a fragment of

Chinese history will blank in the political annals of Europe."

Add to these considerations the brief chronic le of :i long and
Lptet of geolcr. namely, that soft bodied

b It kmd-.innn.i!,

formations u com] 1.1 red with
marin n " Mi 1 itnoT] bisni," or the alteration "l

. ■ find reasons of I

oin,

But direction does the positive evidence we have been abia

io ol ale of en wards thi

: even the most san
ii« of scientific ardour could scarcely have hoped

: 5 of rock-formation
aluicly unexplored een to be one to which

carh year .a of new and strange ;• . And at

the most, any on plying

" mia. I and to serve

but as a] -

•f the

links"

eases in a very

t«> becon med of

. rocks ol rka, to

.; (ions concern. Btvreen

existing K' lammabor ^hthc

iches of 1 dded to the conquests of

is to be said of the zoological position

1 1 and it ' features as large as

i, from the tion of their skeletal

.•. j

308

The Gentleman's Maga

remains, can at the best be regarded U intermediate bctwiv
elephants themselves, and the odd oofed

the
rhinoccrose- mc

! two
large canioc tec:
•
aid four horn-cores
' ), besides a pair of
similar WiuUuitSi in front
of the upper jaw. < Ira
which r
an inten
1 an''

i >thee»tini

the l/nit. "«M

inimalswith great front teeth like the /
grim ••n*'

skeleton : of the Carnivore n OCt

mo i
T«.\

rodents are united to those of 1
being a group of animals represented

iters? N

no i

Ag.n

as in the rei ent deposits of the New World, we And

the cxth> t M

thcodd-t"

■
' tlic teal* and

Missing Links.

309

,5) of the Eocene Tertiary dep cars to coi iwine-

race with I id-chewenor Kun:i.!.m:-, joat as tb

-one of the first
animals whose remains were
disinterred from Montmartre —
the pigs and tapirs
the apparently for -removed
rhinoceros. The case for the
existence of " missing link*,"
rhercwith the at present ditl
orders and sub-orders of QQld
<ls may be connected, would
tern to be very strong. There would appear to be more than
'•nt cause to account for the hopeful spirit of the evolutionist,
whose 9Ch I'hecy. that ph

nanisms— begun by Cuvier. in ilu ries of

nartrc— is destined to powerfully aid his cause, seems likely to
iiscd. When it lies in the power <>( the notunUisl to point, as
well he may, with pride, to the pi •• of fori

which connect the one-toed horse of to-day with tl thxi e,

rnd fivc-tocd steeds of the post,1 one M 10k the julnl.int

M»e of the evolutionist in the more silent .ind deeper satisfaction
rith which mankind at large is given to welcome the dcmonsn
of a great truth. It is of such a demonstration that Hun:
'On the evidence of palrcontolo, volution of many exi

forms of animal life from their predecessors is no longer an hypo-
, but an I it is only," he adds, "the nature of the

physiological factors to which that evolution is due which 1. .nil open
to discussion.*

But not merely in the highest class of the animal world have
"intermediate forms" been discovered. The case for evolution
in interest when we Icam that in lower ranks of Vertebrate life,
groups of animals, separated apparently by tic widest of intervals,
: now being linked together by the discovery of intermediate fossil
The best-known example of the latter facts is found in the
relationship which may be now regarded as being clearly proved to
exist between reptiles and birds. Were we to search the whole
animal kingdom through for examples of creatures of thoroughly
different appcatran< 1 , and general conformation, no two

sups would fall more familiarly to hand than birds and reptiles.
There would, indeed, appear to be no similarity or likeness between

1 8<* Gftiimeit'i Mw-ine for Much 1879, article on " Clues ar.-l Tares
to N«u«l »i»K ..

T/w Gentleman's M

the Secretary Bird, which daily devours its quota of
iI.l- prey upon which it

the unfortunate bird • »tony gaze has

it literally to :i livil

. would be oj other

beauty of form an groteviu

and often, in popul&i i ttimarjon at "rh>

contr .oukl be complete

Uld i rpect Birds are warm-blooded,

a font heart : rq

blood-ten lambered heart, which, howi

the crocodiles becomes four-chambcrcd. The form

. the latter with seal. The fori

limbs, modified for flight in the bird, ai ihususcd i

the so-called "ilyin/ '-powers of lligb

Dg enable
•like an their

front ribs to take living i
from tree to tri • ' Is, as
well know, want
although in tortoises and
astypicalcnou Icottl

tilian character tend

A closer ins] id co:

i of the skeletons of the
groups, such as may be made i
a very general review i
bony possessions, would reveal
al interesting points of likeness and also of divi
. lasses have a lower jaw n
unlike the simple two-h.'

composed of numcrc
single bone. Then. i lower jan

itself l ' tupeds, but liy a special

named the won

process of alteration b»
man and quadrupeds by one (th-
ear. Such, among otlv few pointa ol

ea nd birds Bi i

Missing Links.

flaw fingers — (th tad two next digits (J.t.f) — in its "hand"

w»ing(fig. 5); and the supporting bones of these fingers, corre-
9"mding to our " palm." arc united together,
lie reptile's fingers are never so few as three,
»d their palm-bones, moreover, are not ossi-
togcther. The "merrythought" of the
\ indissolubly associated with
: forebodings of hymeneal nature, consists
I tie two united "collar-bones ; " such a dis ■ f j
of the colhr-boncs being mrim
e more pm- and tin-

:i the bird's breast-bone (
aingonthat of K :il«. Next in or'

that the siuritm, or l»nc wedged in
en the huinch-bo ists, in birds,

1 goodly number of vertebrae or joints of
, whereas, in the reptile, one or Me
! form the sacrum. In .ill birds, mie the ostrich tribe, the
ach-bones (Fig. 6,
i not united I
nt in the middle
reptiles such
n does take |
union, indeed, being
seen in man and
upedx In birds,
Uil terminates

e-bone " (F|g.
^ VI. giving support to

the secretion of
I in preening
In reptiles
00 wch l»nc exists, and
** joints of the tail sua-
% rtpcr towards th
**najr of the appendage.
^"otitis of the thigh-bone
'Om the bird, like that of
^■frnpeds, lies par.
> the median plane or
of the body ; but in Ktc- ''

the axis of the thigh makes an open angle of varying dimen-

312

The Gentleman s Magazine

ben tar
COtOffe

sions with the median plane. The ankle of the bird (Fig.
liarly formed, inasmuch as tlic upper half of the ankle, or "tarsus^*'
becomes united to the lower end of the shi*,.
bone or leg ; whilst the lower half of the ankle
unites with the bones corresponding to those to-
man's instep, the union producing the so-callcrf
'• tarso-metatarsal " bone (Fig. 6, «>). It is in
bone which Incomes so greatly elongated
the w;i..U ; | the storks and ifaa

seen in the young fowl (Fig. 7) the shin, or I
bone (/), bears at its lower extremity the "/

ulus" (a) of the ankle, shortly to be
united to the leg by bony union. The IsrW
condition is seen in die left hand figure, where tl*
astragalus («) i me united to the tibia, or chief leg-bow

the other bone of the leg, or fibula (/), being rudiments
complete union of ankle-bones with the leg is not seen in
(sec Fig 15 c). Whilst the latter have four toes as their least eon
ment, bird! have never more than four, the till I.
wanting. And whilst in birds the bones of the instep uni
lower half of the ankle, in reptiles the instep-bones (or metaiamljl
(Fig. 15, 1, 3, 3, 4) are distinct from those of the ankle

Thus much for dry details. The reader who has taken the trouble
to follow this category of the personal characters of birds is corojurrf
with those of reptiles, will probably find that the somewhat extended
examination will assist his comprehension of certain abnerrauhnri
in the structure of several extinct forms of bird and reptilian
since many of the characteristic features of each class just
will be found to have been curiously modified and often united 1
the "mitring liskl ' which bind I hete two groups of animals to
It may be firstly asserted that the ostriches, cassowaries, and
relatives, differ from all other birds in possessing a flat sh
breastbone instead of the normal " keeled " structure (I
ptopa to the class. Their " merrythought " is likewise inc
and their haunch-bones arc united below or in front, instead I
remaining open as in other birds. Hut he would be worse than 1
over-bold zoologist who would venture to maintain that 1
of difference meant more than the merest tendency reptilewards ; xf
the ostriches and their neighbours can hardly be denominated kri
which appreciably narrow the gulf betwixt reptiles and their avis-
kith and kin. But presuming that the zoologist, dealing with 4
birds of to-day, refuses assent to the idea that he can suppij ■

Missing Links.

313

:ween reptiles and birds, can the contents of the
Ik: shown to be better adapted to supply the
! may proceed in two directions, Either wc may try to
extinct birds arc nearer reptiles than their living
' add, if any fossil reptiles exhibit a closer relation-
1 the reptiles of to-day. We may very profitably
■ricf detail, both aspects of the case,
ink make their first appearance in the Upper Oolite
atiorss lying in their natural order just below the chalk.
Dolitic epoch, howcser.and in Triassic rocks, certain luge

Fl... Sk

Fu.. 9.

■"igs. S and 9), supposed by some authorities to be those
found- But these footprints, at the same time, may be
tiles, and it is safer at present to hold their exact nature
ined, and to assert that the first unmistakable bird-fos.-.il
he < >■ nod. The Lithographic Slates of Solen-

avaria, are rocks resulting from the consolidation of
►wdcrcd mud which once coated an ancient Oolitic sca-
»is finegrained deposit, belonging to the Upper Oolite
nerest traces and most delicate impressions of living
ire been preserved— the impress of even a filmy jellyfish
been brought to light. In 1861 the impression of a
•r was found, and later on in the same year a Dr.
rought to light the fragments of a skeleton which was

3*4

Tht Ge>

soon discovered to be of a thoro.; entile

treasure nti duly purchased I and was urate

the..' xofusp-i

10.
■: innately naming, but the leg, foot, | loukl

of the fcatl i

i reature no doubt exists. I n the
it it is a;
rally from all known birds, i'hv |K>sscs*cd

long tail, exactly re-eniUingthatof a lizard, consisting of some I

ich of which supported a pair i
seconi! bone was developed. 'I

bony union in

r their number may ha^
irovided with reptile-like claw ■-> arc

ofihcl
ly meagre i hand.

load)-

all bctw

» nil. m vtiic-likc i on w

Missing Links.

3'5

wics of fossils obtained from the Chalk of Western America by Pro-
fawr Marsh. Aboii- covered in

Ac Upper Chalk of Western K.insn This bud evidently resembled
ouilirinjfdivew, and was duly christened Ifesperornit rtgaiis. Like
living ostriches, emeus, and thi . this extinct bird pos-

ed no keel on its breast-bone. It had the merest rudiments of
wings; and certain reptile-like resemblances seen
in its haunch.boncs made geologists naturally
anxious for the realisation of their hopes in the
discovery of a complete skeleton. In 1872 fresh
discoveries rewarded the patienl and indefatigable
search of Professor Marsh. Not only were the
missing parts of the Hespcrornis duly obtained,
but the remain* of another and still more remark-
able species (fcMAjwrms
;>■) of extinct buds
were lught to light

ijror-
nis were found to possess
teeth: the former (Fig n)
having its curved teeth <»)
set in a common groove
in the jaw-bones, whilst
Ichlhyonus(Fig. is) makes
a further advance towards
l>erfcclion in dental ap-
that its twenty or so teeth of eft h
•we lodged in distinct sockets. The im-
"fcooe of these fact* a on new

like characters in birds may be
N'u li?ing bi
semblance of teeth, if we except the
of the Merganser's bill. Prior
s discoveries, no fossil bird was
to have been provided with true teeth
igh indeed, in certain bird-remains, described by Owen, from
don clay (Eocene)"!' Shcppey, under the name of Odentoptayx
the jaws were provided with bony projections. These pro-
however, are not true teeth— which, as many reader
not resemble bones, either in development or structure, being
from the "gum" or lining membrane of the mouth, and not

Ik. n

Via. if.

■D.1

3'6

Tlu Genilematis Magazine.

from cartilage, as true bones usually arc. Doubtless these pro}
aided Odontoptcryx to catch its finny prey, as the homy

of the Mergansers
enable them to
retain tbe foots
}: ^*\ they so deiter-

^ously apture
One curious bird.
(PAytptom\ ■
Pta .1 South Ameriaa

Leaf-cutter, certainly possesses a double row of bony projection* on
its palftte, Hut even this novel and unusual addition to the list i<
possessions bears but .1 fatal resemblance to the bony teeth of Octal-
opteryx, as these tatter in turn arc an entirely different and rcUmdj
modern feature of the bird type, when comrx-ired with the true IK*
of their " American Cousins " of the Western Chalk.

The Ichthyornis, moreover, diminishes the distance bctwiit twfa
and reptiles in yet another fashion— the joints of its spine (Fig. is.*)
were concave at cither end (r), a conformation familiar to us in tbe joint!
of the fish-backbone, utterly unknown in living birds, but eoonwa
enough in reptiles. This character alone, in the eyes of the natural*,
becomes invested with an importance hardly to be ovcr-cstimaud ■
regards its reptilian relationships ; and in Hc*peromis also, certJB
features in addition t<> those already noted, show unmistakable nark*
of affinity to the reptile type. The teeth of this latter bird, set,*
already remarked, in a common groove, strongly remind one of *
manner in which the teeth of certain lirards arc fixed in the p«
Some of the teeth of this curious bird exhibit the manner in ■!■<*
one series of teeth was replaced by another— for, as moss read*
know, reptiles and fishes possess an unlimited supply and corrtinsd
succession of teeth. The old teeth are ousted from their sofitf»
by new teeth which arc developed at their bases, and in the jr*1
of Hesperornis such a manner of looth-formation, exactly imitttiaj
a common reptilian mode of renewal, is to be plainly seen. Therf
uf this great diver of the Chalk Seas was lastly, like that ti "*
Archxopteryx of the Oolite epoch, very different from the caw
appendage of existing and of other fossil birds. At its middle *»»
under parts the joints of the tail present long projections of lattewl
shape, which strongly suggest the idea of the tail having been a ng«
unyielding member in so far as a side movement was concerned, M»
like that of the beaver, being probably mobile in a vertical directttV
and being thus of use in the diving movements of its possessor. Tht

Missing Links.

317

t joint* of the tail were touted together, but in -.: fashion different

ithtt in which the "ploughshare- bone" of living birds is formed.

Inso far as the birds themselves have rendered an account of their

P*S history, it is clearly seen that their affinities to reptiles] tocome very

«nnglr marked in various directions, • apti ully in the structure of the

?i«,and in the possession of true teeth. Ichthyomis, in the mutter

ollowcd spinc-boncs (Kig. 1?, R, (), and in that of its socket-

aiplintcd teeth, is a more modified and more truly rejitilc-likc bird

•fcs Htsperornis. This fetter again approaches much nearer reptiles

*»o Odontoptcryx (Fig. ij) of the London Clay, which latter, as

nts its nearer approach to the existing order of affairs, presents

1 marked relationship with ■ the dragons of the prime."

But what evidence, we may lastly ask, do the reptiles afford on

rside of any tendency towards the bird type? Have the reptiles

ncd as passive to advance and evolution, as they would appeal

first sight to remain to day : or does their history but repeat the

land variations exhibited by their bird-neighbours? Let the

of the reptile -class in the past answer these emeries. A con-

: number of fossil n ptiles are ranked to form a distinct unlet

lion, marked bjr various near approaches to the structure of

A single example of this curious group will suffice to show

ncdiatc nature of its included Conns. Once again the Litho-

: Slates of Solcnhofen yield a rich reward to geological invtttb

n, and present us this time with the fossil skeleton of an animal,

in the flesh attained a length of
I two feet. This is the Cmfsognat/mt
ibe geologist — a lon^-nccked
sing a small head, the j
, however, were armed with teeth.
:-limbs were short, its hind-limbs
(long and bird-like. Like that of birds,
) bone (Fig. 15,11,/r) is shorter than
[•bone. As in bird- (Fig. 15 a), die
raalf of the ankle bone (Fig. 15 \\,as,
nites with the lower put of the leg ;
tthe lower half of the ankle (id) was not,
1 birds, united with the instep-boaeslor
, which are three ( i* a, 3, 4) in
3, long and slender, to support the
nd, third, and fourth toes. A mere trace
: instep-bone of the fifth toe exists, and the first or great toe is
1 sue. Looking at the structure of Compsognathus, little or no

3i8

The GmtlematCs Magazine.

doubt can be entertained that this reptile was capable of resting
its hind-limbs, in bird like fashion, and of walking, or hopping,
the fashion of the feathered bipeds, to which indeed, by a use ol

imagination, sit idly scientific, we may regard this re]
due time give !i is unquestionably to the -truthiousl

thai Is, to the ostriches and th that this eptfie

the closest r. , , and a comparative glance at the hind

extremities of the ■ bird, and its reptilian neighbour,

suffice to show the marked resemblances and gradation which i
'■«■■■;. .in.i at : rime distinguish, this curious series of

The Compsognathus-limb stands intermediate betwixt

1 5 c) and the bird (a) ; and, strictly judged, is corop
Beady to that of the unborn chick. A glance at Fig. 15, En l
the hind-limbs of the bird (a) Compsognathus and its allies 1
and the crocodile (c) arc rcprcsc-

nesxes, and differences which exist between the three groups,
"dragons of the prime," known as Igiianodon ami
from the Chalk and (' near relations of 1

And when we think of I

length of from forty to ud of the probability il

their diminutive neighbour, they may have walked on two Ic
origin of the giant footprints (Figs. S and y) of the Tri
stones would appear to present ial difficulties in the 1

of satisfactory solution.

ntion must here be made of 1 us Pu-roda-.

extinct reptile* of the Lias, Oolite, and Chalk, in which a wing-in

Aiming Li tils.

3'9

I or fold of tkn 1 m bats, wretched from an

outer ami enormously elongated finger of each hand to the forc-Iimb,
ndo of the body and hind limbs, U n the I and

Bll. By aid of this ibmne these lil

mart lave winged their • ugh the mi with ea.ie and speed.

bird (Fi| their

bird like, and tin irbone-s, as in birds, were hollow

^""Wereii ir in place of marrow. The I'terodactyl-brain

*M« but the hind limbs and pelvis wet

^tand unlike those of i: ig dragons possessed

P*°*iocnt ;aws, usually furnished with gockcujmphntcd teeth. The
t**od»ctyls are thus not markedly bitd-lik -ense. T

&° not lie in the direct line or scries of links between bird-, and rep-
&*,\. .1 bird-like but indepeadeni

^ lie rqmlian branch. In any \ ten ol
*We 1 lainly and forcibly the modification of the reptiban

it requires
jhiloeophy I the belii lodificatkmjnu

direction, and certainly at an appearani

lifted biro li our

ting omitholag

1 the endeavour to describe
1 whi' cir anomalous str;

ig forms, ntion of such fishes as

md Ctrtst ■ Ivcreaftcr de sci ibed) linking their 1

ibians ; or of such a quadruped as the

320

The Gentleman's Magazine.

Ornithorhynchu: niu ■ Duck-billed Water Mole" of Australia)*
its bird like skeleton and other structures of avian nature,
to the naturalist the idea that such anomalies arc after all only to tx
accounted for by a theory of nature which postulates the necessity foi
" links "' binding together groups at first sight of widely varied kind.
Summit^ up the results of this rather ill investigation in

search of "missing links," what maybe regarded as the results of oar
labours ? and to which side dots the weight of evidence lead ?— W>
evolution and modification «s the parent of all that is in living nature,
or to rigidity and fixity of type and form as the rule ami way of lire
at large ? Judged by a very ordinary standard of value, the evidace
II overwhelming in favour of the former vie*. The J
demand for "missing links," as necessary features of the twtt
iionist's scheme ol c ration, is not left unanswered where
il shown for the production of these connections between the lifetf
the past and thai of (he present There is neither wUdnen

absurdity in the idOS thai the bird-stock began in animals re
Compsognatbus and its rs, and that through modified

forms — most nearly resembling the lu

the further and higher developmenl of our existing bird-life 1
gradually evolved. The exact stages of such developrm
unable to picture. The sketch is as yet in meagre outline; but I
outlines foreshadow tolerably well the actual details of the
work. And what is true of the relations between rcptdes and I
or of those between the various races of crocodiles — which, I
important to note, living and extinct, are bound together in a I
almost as graduated and complete as are the In their

genitors -what is true of the connecting links betwixt iniadruptdl^
to-day appear distinct and separate, must by c .tion, i

of logic and common sense, be held to apply with equal force I
entire world ol animal and plant life. There is no law ol
for one group, and of special creation for anoil lormit;

sequence exist wholly, or not at all. "II licsof i

says Huxley, " has come in) • the operation |

.. it seems folly to deny may have arisen in

way." On this view we obtain new and higher ideas of that i
creation which evolution was long thought to destroy— a
nature which it onl, rate anew and more for

whether in picturing for us the di •■ leaf,"

fashioning out thoughts to behold the unfolding of a wui

ANDREW W1LS

321

THE PISTOL IN AMERICA.

y Stale in the American Union has a law against carrying
concealed wea|>ons, and every pair of pants manufactured
from Maine to California, and from the lakes to the Mexican Gulf,
has a pistol pocket. A rowdy Fletcher of S.Utoun (if such ft phe-
nomenon could be) might My, " 1 Can not who makes a nation's
laws, so that I may order its trousers.'* Buy those indispensable
articles of attire ready made, and you arc sure to find on the right
hip — where it is hidden by the skirt of your coat, but ready for your
hand — a deep, narrow pocket, for ycur pislei. Get the garment made
to order, and unless you arc more than ordinarily emphatic in your
directions to the contrary, you will find a pistol-pocket when the
e* come home. If you be a stranger, you will see no necessity
to forbid this arrangement — if you be to the manner born, you will
accept it. Do people carry pistols because they have pistol pockets ?
Upon my word I think nine-tenths of them do. Nature abhors a
vacuum, and there is this extra reason. The Constitution of the
United States provides that every citizen may carry arms for self-
defence, but the majority is ashamed (and the shame is a creditable
one) to carry them openly. The laws against carrying concealed
weapons are administered in ft half-hearted manner. They have a
smack of unconstitutionality, therefore society revolts against their
enforcement. The police cannot arrest a whole city full of delin-
quents. District attorneys have a fellow feeling (just over the rif;ht
hip) which makes them lenient. Juries will not convict their fellow
men for doing what they habitually do themselves. I verily believe
if the law were changed, and it were made a crime to have a
pistol fetJut, we should get on a great deal better. There is nothing
in the Constitution of the United States about pockets! Any
Legislature could KW up every slit in every pair of pants without
infringing even the fifteenth amendment.

Throughout! I xal literature is sold are

public loafing-nclds. In this respect they arc pretty much what the

old second-hand bookstalls in EogSttd used to be — and may be now,

knows. You can go in and read and turn over

toj. ccxtv. no. 1785. v

322

The Gentletnarii Magazine.

volume after volume, and look at the pictures, and no one asks youan
what you want to buy, or, indeed, if you arc going to buy anything
at all. The illustrated periodical literature of America is extensive.,
various, and, in point of manner, exceedingly well got ' '"IT

high and low alike, the drawing and the woodcuts which multiply it
are far ahead of what we have at home. There is no Ixmdon maga-
zine that can compete for die beauty and elegance of its vignette*
and other engravings with Harptr's and Stribntr's ; but when wr
come to the less respectable journals, the pre-eminence b m
whelming, and the moral reflection thereupon most lamentable. In-
stead of the badly drawn, bleared, blotchy abominations which you
may sec — 1 hope, only through the shop windows — in your publica-
tions of the " Police Gazette " and " Fast life " order, we have
things quite as abominable, but designed in faultless draughtsman
and perfectly rendered on the wood— large, dear, full Ol and

abomination. And in seventy-five per cent of them there u the
pistol in full action I Kven in the sheets especially directed to boys
and girls, you will find battle, murder, and sudden death raging.
Last week I noticed a story in one of these, the date of which
laid in the times of Charles II. of England. The costumes were
accordance with the epoch, but t/urt had to bt a tr.vivtr in it.
went to his desk and drew a revolver," is the letterpress under an
illustration of two gentlemen in the conventional cavalier dress,
were unfortunately involved in a "difficulty."

In the unillustratcd press, when diffn our own time are

recorded, you read that " Mr. A. then drev " or thai

" made as though he were going to draw his pistol" or " a <
opon tltis, handed Mr. C his pistol" — as though such a weapon were
part of a gentleman's usual attire, like a pocket-handkerchief, or a
natural adjunct thereto, such as a watch or an eyeglass. Yon also
read that Officer X. found certain dangerous and w
at Umj comer of 1 1 1 1U1 and Coco Nutt Streets, and on their {riving
him leg-bail " fired several shots at diem ; " or that a pickpocket ran
away down such-and-such an avenue " pursued by a policeman and
some cituens, who fired several shots ai it " our esteemed

and high-toned fellow-townsman Mr. D., awakened by the scream* of
his poultry. coloured man getting over the fence

several shots at I ak<y

of escaping from c the pun law

at a few months' imprison But this is Dot

suspicious and dangt

very rarely hurt— a respcctublu rnci

The Pistol in America.

323

home after his day's work, or a servant girl who opens the window to
sec what is the matter, are the usual sufferers. This accustoms the
people to ihooti

It is very seldom lh:i: newspaper gives a dry and

verbatim account of an ordinary criminal trial, but they rejoice in
comic law reports. Two— the Dtlroit Frtt Prat and the Danbury
News — have made themselves famous and rich by turning the ad-
ration of justice into ridicule. Others follow suit by such items
as these, the raw material for which is gathered up by the re;
from the books of the police stations. " Annie D — , having reason
to believe that the affections ol lu I -■••vain were in peril owing to the
fascinations of Amelia PI, sailed into that damsel with a hatchet, for
which amusement she was walued into the Third " (meaning the link-
up of the Third District) ; or " Washington P. I', (coloured)
game of cards with Jell'erson Davis G., and desiring a new deal.
tor it with a white-handled razor, with which he badly carved his
adversary's face. Me now languishes in the 1 subsequent

trial is never reported. It might not be funny, you KG The public
does nc. care towatch bowita I.; •,-.-.; .ire administered. It is only when
•Otoe clergyman is involved in a scandal, or some infamous woman
u suddenly arrested in hex long and well-known career, that interest
in legal proceedings is shown. Then the most trilling details are
seized upon, droscd up, and spiced by the press, and eagerly read
by the public Then the enterprising journal not only prints the
nee verbatim, but describes the dress of the witnesses ; gives us
a sketch of their birth, parentage, and education : tells ai how the
Iioom: of the defendant (or prisoner) is furnished and by whom, and
what it cost, and how many cigars the jud, a day, and of

whom he buys them, and where his sister's children are at school.
In the grcil American drama the Gospel of the Pistol is cxtcn-
ly preached. Mere the moral is pointed with revolvers, and the
tale adorned with the bowie-l>

C curtain comes down upon a free fight, and shooting all round
at the conclusion of every act but the last, and that ends without
gunpowder smoke simply because virtue is triumphant, the hero his
been shot as much as is convenient, and there arc no more bad people
to kill. This sort of thing goes round the country, north and south,
east and west, and round and round again. I have, in my mind's eye a
"great American drama " which has been going round and round in
this way for six years. If the | '.»ould not

ran a week anyv. hething— not Thcrewas

s great American drama here (whete I write) last month, and W$a

324 Tfo Gentleman's Magazine.

posters, illustrating its most attractive scenes, may still be found on
our dead walls and hoardings. Six " situations " are grouped around
a smirking portrait of the great American
tittt rUt, as he appears fresh from the barber's hands, and in these
half-dozen cuts there arc tltrtn piitds, all on active service. He also
is going round and round and round rcvolv(cr)ing.

The law bearing upon homicide in self-defence i* founded upon
our own, but has been emasculated by judicial decisions made in
unsettled places, in wild times, and for lawless people— by which I
mean people who had not organised systems for the prevention and
punishment of crime, to which they had surrendered the rights of
ncc and self-assertion. The broad rule is that "a person
hiring reasonable apprehension of peat jiersonal violence involving
imminent peril to life or limb, may protect himself even at the
expense of hi nt's life, if necessary." It mutt appear that

the slayer had no other possible or at least probable means of
escaping, and that his act was one of necessity. And this is sound
enough, but it will be readily understood that there will be wide
differences of opinion in so wide a CO 10 what circumstances

may create reasonable apprehension of great personal violence. For
example, if in New York two merchants have a md use

warm language, and one of them put
supposed Uiat he is seeking
probably be no bloodshed. But should tl
in New Orleans 'he Other man would instantly draw hi
shoot. It is the CQStOm ntry to g md

to inllic! trivial affront, or foe perhaps wlut was

intended as an affront at all, and so the
of " great personal violence."

A recently published biography of a Carolina family known as the
"fighting Alstons," whose n iberawcre

," sounds a keynote whii more or ! t

out the South. The Alstons arc ! to us as types 0/ -

and patterns of all that high toned gentlemen sho

••upon a time one of th,
I a person
who apologised COr«

,
U full of men who. if tl

<dcd, would not apologise for .

The Pistol in America. 325

bought afraid would seal their lips. They would rather be taken

Vasmdj than run the risk of having their manhood tarnished l>y a

fank apology. This fighting Alston was afraid that some one might

•tytocreaftcr. "He has been struck with a whip, and the striker lives ! "

This particular trouble was settled, according to •' the code," in cold

Hood; but the South is full of men who would not endure the delays

> through the preliminaries of the regular duel. The " difficulty "

I pass into the gunpowder stage there ami then.

last fighting Alston was in all respects a gentleman. He

bttw not fear, but shrank from bloodshed and hoped to die with his

ion. Chairman of a committee Appointed by the Legislature of

■ to investigate the condition of its Penitentiary, lie showed the

I and courage of his heart by making a report in the interests

wetched felons consigned to forced labour in that institution ;

1 doing so he had to blame a political ally (one of its far;.

» Mr. Cos. It is not every Southern politician who would do an act

litUe to " hurt the party,-' out of pure benevolence to a set of

*elc*cs who have not even a vote. Now, this report was cither

•at, partly true, or false. Reason would say to the inculpated,

"Set yourself right with your friends and neighbours by showing that

J<w art slandered, and llien punish the slanderer." Chivalry, as it is

ndentoed in the South, will have nothing to do with argument.

Soctcbody must be killed, and then it is all right. Mr. Cox wrote to

Vr. Alston that he would kill him if he came to Atlanta. Thus

dnttcnged, of course he went there, and after a good deal of shooting

04e treasurer's yffice in the State House he was killed. I have

ftljct heard what effect this has had upon the treatment of convicts

• the Penitentiary. The Sooth is full of men who think that, as their

abootc has been shot because he was their advocate, there is no

for further trouble in the premises.

Tie idea that every' sort of affront is to be washed out with

appears to take root at a very early age. When Southern

boys quarrel, you never hear the formula so common clsc-

-" I'll punch your head," or "I'll go and tell my mar:" "I'll rip

I up," or " I'll plug (put a ball into) you," is the threat, and it must

be taken as an idle one. I .ast week 1 read of a coloured boy,

•jed eleven, who went home welling with rage under some affront,

*d confided to his sister, aged thirteen, his intention of hitting the

•eject of his wrath with a brick .is Boon as might be. She recom-

"leaded shooting a£ preferable, and their father's gun being at hand,

«ad loaded, it was placed in position on the window sill, and fired at

fte enemy as he passed.

326 The Gentleman's Magazine.

In the sober state of Massachusetts, in the proper city of Boston,
a child quarrelled with another child, went home for his father's
pistol, returned with it, and deliberately killed his playfellow.

With such a spirit abroad, it is natural that angry people should not
trust each other. I believe that in the days of chivalry a knight who
struck his foe before he had time todraw was deemed guilty of a " felon
blow," for which, even if it were not fatal, he was liable to lose his
spurs and his right hand at the gallows. The pistol knows do men
courtesy. " Fire first and fire low "is the order of the day. Mi. A.
and Mr. B., old schoolmates and partners in business, had a dispute
about money matters, and said A., " If that's your idea of business,
it isn't mine." In saying this he raised his hands as though to put
his thumbs in the arm holes of his waistcoat, whereujwn B. shot and
I: ill" I him. B. was tried for murder and acquitted. He was, so the
jury thought, in reasonable apprehension of great personal violence.
He had been so for many years, as he proved in his defence that be
always carried loaded Derringers.

C. and D. , both youths under age, had a difficulty on the door-
steps of the tatter's house. IX, threatened with personal chastise-
ment, ran into the hall and came back armed with a cane. C drew
•ol, took steady aim, and blew I. out. He, too, was

acquitted. If anyone had told him the day before that he would
ever, under any circumstances, profess him id of a cane, he

would probably have called him out for such an insult to his manhood.
But he pleaded his fear before a jury, and it saved him.

The safety of the person under apprehension of great personal vio-
lence is, it appears, to be assured not only at the expense of the life of
h« assailant, but at the risk of bystanders and all others within range.

Magazine Street is one of the principal wholesale business
thoroughfares in New Orleans. The foot pavement is thronged with
receiving goods, clerks despatching goods, i rking

goods, country customers looking after sales, making purchases, got-
: draymen and mules at their chronic differences ; drummers
(bagmen), loafers, and the inevitable street i More-

over, down Magazine Street runs a car track by w*
children from the most fashionable part of the cky nuke their way to
the happy hunting grounds of Canal Street— the Vanity Fair of the
Crescent City. Well, close to and Magarine

Streets, and consequently where th
upon Mr. F. on a B i| business. They each hav

A an ear, of course, and— at naturally— a pistol in the usual
flank pocket. " Call on a man of business at his place of bwRDtas

The Pistol in America. 327

in the hours of business," &c &c, is all very well so far as it goes,
but " take your pistol with you ■ appears to be a proper addition in
this civilisation.

1 settle that business with Mr. F., so he slaps his face,
and then they "open fire" (as the papers have it) — F. from his store,
under cover of a breastwork of boxes, E. from the open ban-
quette. According to one account, these tactics do not suit E. He
thinks the crowded street is the proper battlefield, and, " Come out,
you coward," R appears to have aecqited the invitation,

for he is shot down on the sidewalk whilst in the act of firing his
fourth discharge. Two other balls ping into a gutter pipe and plough
up a case within a few inches of the head of a respected citizen
seated in tl>c doorway of his store opposite. This one member of
the local press publishes as a "duel" and it may be taken as a sample
case in all but one particular. Usually the belligerents don't hurt
each other, but some innocent passer-by — an old woman selling pea-
nuts, or a newspaper boy shouting "Picayune! Timet/— full account
of the murder of yesterday," receive the errant lead. Mr. E. has been
honourably acquitted I

On Mardi Gras, in an equally thronged locality, there was another
fusiladc. and again a principal was killed, but not until a peaceable
doctor had got a shot through his foot This is certainly an im-
provement ; for if people must go shooting in the street, it is as well
that they should shoot each other. Some time ago, two young
persons in the l>est society, having had the misfortune to fall out,
chose the staircase of the Opera House as the place, and tntr'ad* —
when there were plenty of people coming up and down — as the
time, for using their pistol,. Wonderful to relate, no one was hurt
More wonderful still, the majesty of the law was satisfied with a fine
of ten dollars.

In to-day's newspaper 1 find a paragraph headed "A Brave
Action.*' It relates how some boys jeered at a carter, whereupon lie
drew " his pistol " and fired into the crowd. He did not kill or
wound anyone, and so nothing will be done to him, although it is
an offence to discharge firearms within the city limits. In your poor
! wom-out country he would probably go to the assizes for shooting
with intent to do grievous bodily harm.

It must not be supposed that the reckless use of the pistol is
confined to the South. This section of the country has, indeed, an
enviable notoriety in the premises, but does not by any means enjoy
a monopoly.

At the once decorous University of Princeton, where young

3=8

The Gentleman's Magazine.

gentlemen arc educated for the ministry in the Presbyterian Ch
there was trouble between the Sophomore and Freshman
arising out of what is called " hazing " (Anglic*, bullying).
soon got into the pistol stage, and a Sophomore was killed
friend of the slayer thus deposed at the coroner'* inquest:
advised him (the slayer) to cut the lining out of his pocket, to
his pistol there, cocked, in his right hand, and to slap •— {
slain) with his left." In other words, one fully armed and n
and seeking life, was to provoke a gesture which might give
thereafter the excuse of pretending that he thought himself in
Having provoked anger, he was to profit by the provocation and k
I cannot imagine anything more dastardly ; but the witness had
brought up in another school. He is said to have told his
glibly, and without the slightest sense of shame. I do not
that either of these promising youths has been convicted of
There certainly has not been any hanging : and here it has to
admitted thai they do hang for murder in the North, live
being that most of the homicide there is of an unemotional
In the South the execution of a white man is very' rare for the
cause. Dove la Donnal is usually the first question to be asked

When this Mtrrima tatua belli docs not exist, another fertile eai
of strife— /W/V/in — supplies the quarrel and pulls the
Whisky also is a prolific producer of difficulties, and here again
Prest and the Stage hasten to glorify the drunkard. Drub
to the American funny writer what breaches of the Seventh
mandmeni are to a French caricaturist. Nine-tenths of the
law reports above mentioned turn upon drink. The accused
drunk, or the judge, or the principal witness, and the honours
always scored to the holder of the most liquor. 'l"hc other night
saw a burlesque on //.M.S. /'ina/ere, the fun in which
of making Sir J. I'ortcr, K.C.H., a drunken German, and in
several uUu.iens to drinking and being drunk. The beery
Lord gets sea-sick, and instead of seeking the solace which his
grants, he goes through all the motions over the taffraiL This
anement upon Mr. Gilbert's arrangement was greeted with shouts
applause, and I am told that the version, of which it is one of
gems, is much better than the original.

Refusing to drink with even a casual acquaintance is an a
for which pistols are commonly drawn, and in many cities I
name no commercial transaction is complete without a drink
tween the parties- They go to a bar as though it were a notari-
office, and the bargain is sealed with whisky. Under these co

The Pistol in America.

329

tiora one may be unsteady in the public street at midday without
any detriment to tal or professional position ; and conse-

quently when such unsteadiness leads to the use of pistols it is not
considered that raw offences have been committed, but, on the con.
trai 10 harm has been done. The argument runs somewhat

"He was tight" — " he shot because he was tight"— he
bad a right to be "tight" — trgff, "he had a right to shoot."

One of tbc excuses usually given for carrying concealed weapons
; -icncyof the police ; and the common justification offered
for violent self-assertion is the difficulty, amounting often to impos-
sibility, of obtaining legal redress for personal wrongs. A case of
assault, which in England would be disposed of the next morning
before a police magistrate, would in most of the States drag over a
week in its preliminary stage, be sent to a jury, and if the ixuiies
(or either of them) were well off, two or three trials might be had,

S"d a year be wasted before a final verdict could be arrived :it. There
indications abroad th.it the American people arc becoming dis-
sfied with the manner in which tlu-ir criminal law is administered,
D this dissatisfaction iroin causes too numerous to be dis.

cussed at the end of an article. There arc also indications abroad
that they arc getting tired of the pistol as an article of dress. In
* Orleans a City Ordinance has been passed, under which every
man visiting a place of public resort must submit to be searched for
concealed weapons by the police. At a recent third-rate public ball
nintty-lhrte deadly wcaj>ons were taken care of under this enactment !
I n the Slate of Georgia an almost prohibitory licence tax is imposed
upon the vendors of pocket instruments of destruction by lire or
slecL The cry all over the South and West is. fof severe* laws and
firmer judges. This, I think, is a mistake. When society has not
made up its mind to consider an action a* odious, severity of the
law merely leads to evasion of justice. When you hanged for sheep-
stealing, juries would not convict. Of two evils, they preferred
perjury to what they thought was murder.

icty must be educated upon this subject, beginning at the

Kj A* soon as the man who calls himself a gentleman is taught
1 nil tire- low" is the act of a coward, and to
rrel places the mark of a ruffian, the common rowdy can

l»c very lit with, l-ct it once be considered " bad tone" to

carry a pistol, and the end is near.

ALBANY DE tONM-ANyCE.

330

The Gentleman's Magazine.

NOTE ON THE HISTORICAL PLAY
OF KING EDWARD III.

Part II.

BUT if for a moment we may fancy that here and there we have
caught such an echo of Marlowe as may have (alien from the
lips of Shakespeare in his salad days, in his period of poetic pupilage,
we have but a very little way to go forward before we come upon
.putable proof that the pupil was one of feebler hand and fainter
voice than Shakesj>e.ire. Let us take the passage on poetry, be-
ginning—

Now, Lodowick, inrocatc • some golden Mote
To bring thee hither >n enchuiied pea ;

and so forth. No scholar in English poetry but will recognise M
once the flat and futile imitation of Marlowe; not of his great
general style alone, but of one special and transcendent passage
which can never be too often quoted : —

I f all the pens (hat ever poets held
Had fed the feeling of their masters' thoughts.
And every sweetness that inspired Iheir hearts.
Their minds, and mates on admired themes ;
If all the heavenly quaWaesenee they <iill
From their jnunoctsl nower* of poor.
Wherein, as in a mirror, we perceive
The highest reaches of ■ human wit ;
If these had made one poem's period.
And all combined in beauty's worthiness,
Yet Oii.uM there hover in their test less heads
One thought, one grace, one wonder, at the least,
Which Into wot e can digest, «

Infinite as is the distance between the long roll of these mighty
lines and the thin tinkle of their feeble imitator'*, yet we cannot

1 A ]>rc' Shakespearean woid, and proper to the academic « In- > W
writ!

• T)u h, ■ r*mi*,!„i*r ttu Crmt, Act ,

The Historical Play of King Edward III. 33 1

but catch the ineffectual note of a would-be echo in the
of the King to his parasite —

For so mocb inuring hath a poet's pen, etc. etc.

It is really not worth while to transcribe the poor meagre versicles
at length : but :i glance at the text will show how much fitter was
their author to continue the tradition of Peek than to emulate the
innovations of Marlowe- In the speeches that follow there is much
pretty verbiage alter the gcncTal manner of EUxabethon sonncttcers,
touched here and there with something of a higher tone ; but the
whole scene drags, flags, halt* onward at such a languid rate, that to
pick out all the prettiest lines by way of sample would give a favour-
able impression but too likely to be reversed on further and fuller
acquaintance.

How henn-iick. and ho* fall "i" tagaWtmeflt,

Her beauty makes me

Write on, while I peruse her in my thoughts.

Her toiea to music, or the nightingale ;
"•r-lcapmg n

Comparr. Ui mnbura ka ;

And why should I ipesJc .if ili<- Dl

The nightingale sings of adulterate wrong ;
ircd, is too satirical :

1 it 11 . though tin, would not he so esteemed ;

But t..' it -. irtnc deemed.

.lir, fir softer than the silkworm's twi-i,
ai a flattering gttta,1 tWn make more fair
tJUtkriiti glut

Comes in too soon . for, « r t' ing of her eyes.

1 No Shun Shakespearean Society will ymtliw tlii- (ftigbl "I

evidence here supplied for iclcniity o( authorship between the two cemtcraporary
plays of h'ing Edx-arJ ///. am! King KiiktrJ //. Compare the Identity of
phrase — and of a phrase so remarkably important, so daringly original between
this passage and one fa enc (Act iv. Scene i.) of the latter play, pub-

lished two years later (1598) than thii on which wc arc engaged.

O fiatUrmg {If 11,
Lit r- -.JMrrity.

Than dou. beguile m

Crsotd any loul want further witness In support of his theory t or any dunce
(Xsstpus— Swellfoot the Swaggerer — misbegotten by impudence her bad Ml M
Ignorance hb mother l«e Carl) lc) -hesitate to claim is his meed the crown of
thistles due a* fodder to the gullet Of ai garl 0 the ears of the

foundling who after tssaoy days was thus to read ihe riddle of the Sham
1 Spl

CJKWJI ol

redoomed

in >li.ikc-

332 The Gentleman s Magazine.

I'll jay ili.it like a gb» ifcey catch the »un.
And thence the hoi rcrVeti.
Agaitut my breast, aoJ burns the heart wrthio,
Ab, what a world of <lev:ant makes my »oul
'iry ground of >■■■

"Pretty enough, very pretty ! but "exactly as like and as near the
style of Shakespeare's early plays 3S is • of Constable's

sonnets to th.it of Shakespeare's. Unless fen to the

Master every unaccredited song, sonm I

farce of his period, which bears the same marks laic—

a date, like our own, of too prolific and imitative prod as we

find inscribed on the greater pan of his own early work; unless we
arc to carry even as far as this the audacity and nrrogancc of our
TO, we must somewhere make a halt — an be on the

near side of such an attribution as that of A ■'//. to the

hand of Sliakcspeare,

With the disappearance of the apand the entrain

the unsuspecting Countess, the style rise* yet again — and really, thin

time, much to the author's credit- It would need a

from a rerj powerful band to improve on d

of the prelude or OYi >wal of adulterous love.

Hut when all is said, though rout, il «

not forcible work ; I dn not mean by fori ible

spasmodic, emphatic beyond the modesty of a is of

course only to be commended, and that heartily, for

• uind ; but he is not to be commended for coming
This whole scene is full of mild and I 'I yet

earnest simplicity : but the note of it, the expression, the dominant
key of the style, is less appropriate to the i p and

dcadl;, it —of what modern tongues might

call a strong and rather dangerous flirtation. Passion, so
ii quite out of thi-. ■niter's call ; the depths and heights of snai
(if womanly emotion are alike beyond his reach.

Thought aad affliction, r»-

He HUM to favour and lo |wctlinc»a.

1 0 favour and to prcttin

complete and

work whir i : from a S'

style of ancient pastoral.

The Historical Play of King Edward III. 333

E4iKirJ. Thou hcar'st me say that 1 do dote on thee.

Cttmlas. If on my beauty, take U If the* C4I
Though little, I do it!.-. ten !:«:•■■ |0M|
If on my tirtue, take it if il
POT virtue** store by giving doth augment ;

: mi what it vill that I can give
And Ifcofl canst Mice away, inherit it.

EJusf •■ benttv- thai I would enjoy.

OmuU I, I would wipe it ofT,

And dispossess myself to give it thee :
But, sovereign, it is soldefed to my Q(
Take one and loth ; for like an humble shadow
It haunt* the sun»hinc <<t my summer's lifr.

£'' lend it me to sport withal.

Ow- intellectual soul

lie lent away, and yet my body II
A* lend my body, palace to my
Away from her, and yet rclain my soul.

My body il htl bower, be* rt, her abbey.

And the an angel, pure, divine, Iffitpol
If I riwuM b id I • thee,

I ay poor soul, and nt) mc.

Once more, this last couplet is very much in the style of Shake-
speare it wholly unlike even the dramatic style of
Shakcspe- -and some doien other poets or poeticules
of the time. lhit throughout this port of the play the recurrence of
a faint and intermittent resemblance to SI in is none frc-
blc than elsewhere,' A student of Lmporfei I memory
live intuition might pardonably assign such COO]
ID cited, to the md itself; but such a .student
would be likcikf to refer ihera to the sonncttcer than to the dram.-m it
And a casual likeness to the style of Shakespeare's sonnets is not
exactly sufficient evidence to warrant such an otherwise unwarrant-
able addition or appendage to the list of Shakes; 'ays.

A little further on we ( in the first ..:id l.-i-i passage wlii< h

does actually recaU by its wording a famous instance of the full and
ripened style of Shakespeare.

di clip or counterfeit yonr stamp

h jh treason '
np his image in forbi.i

mh?

In violating marriage' sacred law

may he worth a remark that the word /Vuvr b constantly used as a
dteyllablc > another note oi archaic debility or lust*! (Juicy in uictrc.

334 The Gentleman's Magazine.

You break a great** bonosr than yourself j
To lie a king U of a younger haute
Than to be married : your progenitor.
Sole reigning Adam on the uoivene.
By Cod vac honoured for a married man,
Hut not 1 ■■■ '■ r a ting.

Ever)- possible reader, I suppose, will at once bethink himself of
the famous passage in Measure for Measure which here may seem to

be faintly prefigured :

It were o» good
To pardon him that hath from nature stolen
A nun already made, a> to remit
Their uucy aweetnen, that do coin heaven'' image
In stamp* that arc fori

and the very difference nf style is not wid hicJi gapes

between the first style of Shakespeare and the last. But men of
Shakespeare's stamp, I venture to think, do not thus repeat them-
selves. The echo of the passage in A Midsum ft Dream,
describing the girlish friendship of Hcrmia and Helena, which m find
in die first act of The Two NoNe Kinsmen, describing the like girlish
friendship of Emilia and Flavina, is an echo of another sort Both,
I need hardly say, arc unquestionably Shakespeare's ; but the fashion
in which the matured poet retouches and completes the sketch of his
earlier years — composes an oil painting, as it were, from the hints and
suggestions of a water-colour sketch long since designed an J
since half forgotten — is essentially different from the mere verbal and
literal trick of repetition which sciolists might think to detect in the
present instance. Again we must needs fall back on the inevitable
and indefinable test of style ; a test which could be of no avail if we
were foolish enough to appeal to scholiasts attendant
dunces, but which should be of some avail if we appeal to experts
and their attentive sch'

that neither the passage in . imer Nighfs Dream n.

corre-i .usage in Tkt :-If Kinsmen could have been

written by I known to us but Shakespeare's ; whereas the

passage in King Edward ///. might as certainly ha*c l>cen written
by any one out of a dozen poets ibi wcring passage

in Measure /or Measure could assuredly have been wi -hake-

spcarc alone.

As on a first reading of the . we feel that,

for all the grace and
the claim of the poem to oui
needs depend on the success or failure of the first interview between

Tfu Historical Play of King Edward III. 335

Theseus and his calumniated son ; and as 00 finding that scene to be
fctble aod futile and prosaic and verbose we feel that the poet who
tod a woman's spite against women has here effectually and finally
shown himself powerless to handle the simplest elements of masculine
Juhoq, of manly character and instinct ; so in this less important
ax we fed that the writer, having ventured on such a subject as the
ecnpulscry temptation of a daughter by a father, who has been en-
topped into so shameful an undertaking through the treacherous
euction of an equivocal promise unwarily confirmed by an incon-
oath, must be judged by the result of his own enterprise;
nil or stand as a poet by its failure or success. And his failure
only not complete; he is but just redeemed from utter discomfiture
the fluency and simplicity of his equable but inadequate style.
Here as before we find plentiful examples of the gracefully conven-
tual tone current among the lesser writers of the hour.

Wttni'itk. 1 low shall I enter on this graceless errand ?
I roust not call her child ; for where'* the father
That will in such a wit seduce his child t
Then. Wife of .SaHilmry, — shall I so begin?
No, he's my friend ; fad IfbWt ia found the friend
That will .!•■ Iru-inWiip mu-Ii rmiaiii.-igcmcnt ? '
Nei'.hrr my daughter, nor my deft! frknd'l (rife,
I am not SVarwiclc, as thou think' it I am.
Bat on attorney from the court of hell ;
That thus have housed my spirit in his form
To do a message to thee from the king.

This beginning is fair enough, if not specially fruitful in promise ;
tot lie verses following are of the flattest order of commonplace.
■l and grass and the spear of Achilles— of which tradition

the moral it,
What mighty men misilo, they can amend —

■ are the fresh and original types on which our little poet is com-
*Ded to Ml back for support and illustration to a scene so full of
>le suggestion and pathetic possibility.

The king will in his glory hide thy ibJUDC ;
And those that gaze on him to find out thee
WiB lose their eyesight, looking on the sun.
What can one drt>| ■ < ■: |«.i-.mi harm the sea,
Whose hugy va- .getl the ill

Aod make n lose its operation?

' Vet another non-Shakespearean word ; this, time a Gallicism.

336

Tlte Gentleman's Magasitu.

And so forth, and SO forth ; ad libitum if not ad nauuam. h
us take but one or two more instances of the better sort

CtmnUu. Unnatural bcalegc ! Woe me unhappy,1
To haie escaped the danger of my foe*,
Ami to l«e len times worse invir'd by friends !

(Here we come upon two more words unknown to Shakespeare;'
bttkgr, ■•■■• I noun mbsttntive, and invired lor miiniud.)

Balk he »<> mean* to stain my honest blood
Hut to corrupt the author of my blood
To be his scandalous ami vil
No in . i In- branches lie infected,

When p li OB htftl encompassed the root* ;
No maml though the leprous infant die,
When the stern dam envenomcth (he dog.
Whyll .'i a pawport toorit "-I.

An.! y,mi!i ihc rlaageroai (da of Mx-ny ;
Hint ■ iut ilic ling of the Uw ;

And cancel every canon that prescribes
A shame for shame or prn.v < >ce.

will

Will : before I will o.nscat

C an actor in his crscclcst lust.

Wamkk. Why, now than speak'sl as I would hasc Uice speak ;
And marie how I unsay my words again.
Aa honour ■ more ertc

Than th , losct of a I

The greater man, the peat, i ug.

Be it good or bad, that he shall urnlcrt
An nnjcputcd mole. ll)i"K in the son,
/eater tabttanoe than il

uer'n day doth soonest taint
The loathed carrion thai it seenv
Deep arc the blows made with a n
That sin doth ten times aggravate itself
That is coma) i" -y place ;

1 An ingenious aspirant to the honour of admission Into the Shan Shalr-
apcare Society would bent luggest aa a conclusive proof of (Shaw) SJiakevpnut*
authorship the occurrence of an equally uncommon awl exactly paralM tapunli
in the last scene of the 7*ov Gtnlltmm c/ I'h.mu .—

» It may obvute any chance of mistake if I observe that here aa ctnrwaoc.
1 1 rnention the name that i* above every name in Engl

Shakespeare, and not to the "new Shakapcic " i a nous* A#w
I hsve no acquaintance, and with wbnm (if we may judge nf a gn ■
little— unknown al hearing nf those nho select mo as

i nxtal sponsor fot i iicuuetvea and their literary oatechuaacnt) I can nana alnctnl|
- ttM i datiR M n*ti mm

The Historical Play of King Edtoard III. 337

An evil deed, done by authority,

I- mi (a I

• >=e. and the !>eauly •>'

. but ihc greater worn unto the beast.

ire four passably goo«l lines, which vaguely remind the reader

f Jomtthing better read elsewhere ; a common case enough with the

! tolerable work of small mutative poets.)

A tpxions field of reasons could I urge
between hi* glory, daughter, and thy shame :
Thai poison %how» «OfM i" a jpc>l<i< :i CUp .
Dark night vx ■ ing Huh ;

/jvi-r tktf fntrr imAl far tt'Orte than ivteiii ;
And every glory tba* inclines, to sin.
Tin- \haroe is treble by the opp"
So leave I, with my blessing in thy bosom ;

I d\ then convert to a most heavy curse.
When thou convert'st (ton hoOOOl'l golden name
To the black factim. "( l..-.|-l>l..:iiii;: ihttM I [£jiV.

Cevnt/ii. I'll follow thee : — ' And when my mind turns so,
My body sink my soul in endless woe ! [Exit.

So much for the central and crowning scene, the test, the climax,

! hinge on which the first part of this play turns; and seems to me

taming, to emit hut a feeble and rusty squeak. No probable

I win need to be reminded that the line which I have perhaps

ily italicised appears also as the last verse in the ninety-

1 of those ■ sugared sonnets " which we know were in circulation

t time of this play's first appearance among Shakespeare's " private

in other wonls, which enjoyed such a kind of public privacy

r private publicity as one or two among the most eminent English

i of our own day have occasionally chosen for some part of their

, to screen it for a while as under the shelter and the shade of

laurels, till ripe for the sunshine or the storm of public

at. In the present case, this debateable verse looks to me

like a loan or maybe n theft from Shakespeare's private store of

atic verse than a misapplication by its own author to dramatic

of a line too apt and exquisite to endure without injury the

ifcrence from its original setting.

Here is another windfall for the Sham SfakMpWMlM. Compare will.
(parallel passages.

Go on, M foliate thtt. [[famlrt. Act i. Sc. $.

Master, go on ; and / vtll frUm* Ihte, &c [Ai You Likt It, i, 1,

•• I hop* bene be proof*-"
VOL ccxtv. so. 178S- 2

338

The GentUmaris Magazine.

The scene ensuing wind* up the fir»t part of thi» composite (or
rather, in one sense of the word, incompositc) poem. It may, on the
whole, be classed as something more -sably good: it is

elegant, lively, even spirited in style ; showing at all events a marked
advance upon the scene which I have already stigmatised as a failure
— that which attempts to render the interview between Warwick and
the King. It is hardly, however, I should say, above the hi
read) of Greene or Peelc at die smoothest and straighten of his
flight. At n a line which inevitably

i much 1 more

popular historical drama. On being informed by I'crby that

The ting is in his closet, mnJcootcnl,

For what I know not, but be gore in charge,

'cr dinner, none tbouM inleimp' h
The Ccunlevs Salisbury, »t*l her father Warwick,
thtllS brow* ;

on red ition, the prompt and states-

!,•::'■ :,.i..i:v Di' Vudley leads him at onc« as by intuit. mm in t1..
inference thus eloquently expreuet ! ling and exalted

iwctry ;

L'nJoutricdly, then unset hing i» amiss.

Who can read this without a reminiscence of Sir Christ'
Hatton's characteristically cautious conclusion al
tary preparations arrayed against the immediate advent of the
Armada?

I caruvil but MjimUc— furtive, i

ic oiojrx lino's rash— I cannot bul
isc the stale some ihn^cr jppretc

entrance of the Ki , rises—

"in good icw with

lease and aru'maii

y *owr»h*o all any aovcrtljn'* wl
F.JnsvJ Ah. ■ to make I'

•*r- Thewne^n i rim.

£Ji. otawawl

/Vr.

AV V koifcV

■a/

Ac- >rga. aatt brought ih;

/.•fVni rrf Then bo "pun Itrutv I

Tkt Historical Play of King Edxvard III. 339

Daby, 111 look upon the counter" «««!
,\-..n.

Dtriy. The count e*»' mmd, my liege?

Ed&ant. I moo, llie emperor : — Leave me atone.

AttMty. What's in his mind ?

Drriy. Let's, leave him tO Ui llUUMUf,

[Emu/ Dr.mrt and Ai'dlkv.

EJstard. Thus from the heart's abundance speaks the tongue ;
Countess foe erojicror : And indeed, why not ?
She a as imfirater crret DM
And I to her

As a* a kneeling vxual, ihai obsrt n ■■■
The pleasure or displeasure of her eye.

fa this little scene there is perhaps on the whole more general

ess to Shakespeare's earliest manner than we can trace in any

passage of the play. But how much of Shakespeare's earliest

may be accounted the special and exclusive property of

Bpcarc ?

After this dismissal of the two nobles, the pimping pocticule,

manque' or (whom shall we tall him ? ) re'ussi, reappears with a

to Ca3ar(asthc King it pleased to style himself) from "the

than Cleopatra's match " (as he d 1 the Countess), to

that " ere night she will resolve his majesty." Hereupon an

"drum within" provokes Edward to the following

-a me :

What ■■■<■"■ Ins tibst thunders forth this, march,
1 1 in my bosom?
hccfaldn, ban it brawl-, with hiin that bcatcth it !
Go, break the thundering parchment bottom out,
And I will leach it to conduct sweet lines

(- That'* bad ; conduct steal bad.")

-qui of a heavenly nymph :
For 1 will use it as my writing-paper ;
Aad to reduce him, from a scolding drum,
To be the herald, and dear courwcl-bi-jicr,
Betwixt a god<Je%s and r. mighty kinj;.
Go, bid the drummer lenm to touch the lute.
Or hanj: Mi" '" ■ 1 1 » - bniri- . i.l in- 'li

following phrase OCCOI /'**•"», Act v. Sc a ;

And even at hand :i liunn is ready braced
Thai :UI as lou<l a-; thine :

according to Dcgbeny minor. Elbow junior, and I Stan Shahs)

, aberp who ooBpxnc the critical flock of Pacu jy was necessarily

written bj the aathor of that play. Q- K. 1 >.

i a

340

The Gentleman 's Magazine.

For now we think it an uncivil tiling

To trouble hcivcn with Mich har»h resounds.

Away 1 [£xH Lam

The quarrel that I have require* no arms

liul these of mine ; ud these -h.\U meet my foe

In a dtap mud) "f ptMtnVbl

My !■)■!■'. lh<ll bt in y BTOW1 ; md my »ighi

Shall serve me as the vantage of the vfad

To whirl away my swcel'st ' artillery :

Ah, but. all*, »hc wins the sun of me.

1 n thai it the hendfi and thence it comes

That poMl term llic waiitiin wnrrk-r Win<l ;
i:m luvi- hilh '•>•'■• U hsdgmeni ■., In, -.|i| ...
Till 100 much IotM K'oij- il:ir.-les Hum.

Hereupon Lodowick introduces the Black Prince (that is to
and " retires to the door." The following scene opens well, wit
tone of frank and direct simplicity.

/ iwiinJ. I sec the l»y. O, how hli mother's face,
M.nlilo:! in hit, corrects my strayed desire,
.\:.-\ rates my heart, and chides my thievish cjr ;
Who, being rich enough in seeing her.
Yet seek* elsewhere : and basest theft is that
Which cannot check itself on poverty.—
Now, boy, what news?

Mm I hxvi- I— rabltd, R>y dear lord and father,
,. of all nur hriglish blood.
For our aftUl [a I ranoe ; ud here we come
To take direction from your majesty.

AVtt'./r./. Siill him ilelineate

Hi. mother's visage ; those his eye* are hen.
Who, looking wistly * on me, made me blush ;
For faults against themselves gise evidence :
l.ust is a fire ; and men, like lanterns, show
light lust within themselves even through themselves
Away, loOM ttflcl of mowing (I
Shall the Urge limit of fair Brittany*
lly me be overthrown ? and shall I not
Master this little mansion of myself?
Give me an armour of eternal steel ;

: Surely, for neM'tt we tfcooj :'/>'//.

* This word occurs but once In Sriak<-.iK.ire—

And sjKaking n. lie *btl] looked on me; <A7<f- SitMmxl It. Act ». Sc.4.)

and in such a case a mete fraf Xtiipt mr can carry no weight of evidence
worth any Under)

■ TWt fom !■■ M d ' "it lime" by Shakespeare as the equivalent of j
once only, in MM gym for Britain.

The Historital Play of King Edward III. 34 1

Ifl) to conquer kings. And shall I then

SaMuc myself, and be my enemy's friend ?

fl Butt nol be. — Come, boy. forward, advance •

Let's with our colour* sweep (he air of France.

Here Lodowick announce* the approach of the Countess "with
smiling cheer."

EAcard. Why. theft it ^' <y smile of hen

Hath ransomed captive Pram X ; Kod M the king,
The dauphin, mil the |>octs, ni liU-riy. —
Go, leave me, Ned, and revel wn.'i 1 1 • > friends.

[Exit Pxinck.
Thy mother is but block ; and thou, like- her,
I>"»t put into my mind how foul she is.

untess hither In thy hand,
And let her chase away these winter clouds j
For she gives beauty Ix >i Is to heaven and earth.

[Exit LonowicK.
The sin is more, to hack ind hew pOOI
Than to embrace In an unlawful bid
The register of all nuletfa '
Sioce leathern Adam till this youngest hour.

Rt^Kttr LouowiLK -.villi ihi Countess.

Go, Lodarrick, put thy hand into my purse,
Play, spend, give, riot, waste ; do what Hum »:ii,
So thou wilt hence awhile, and leave me heft.

[Exit IX>DOWtCK.

laving already, out of a desire and determination to do no possible
injustice to trie actual merits of this play in the eyes of any reader
»ho might never have gone over the text on which I had to comment,
Jed in no small degree the limits I had intended to impose
>n my task in the way of citation, I shall not give so full a tran-
ipt from the next and last scene between the Countess and the

• <";-••

SJwiixr./. Nnw, my sonli playfellow ! art thou come
To speak ■ . .r.i-uly wi.i.l of yea

To my object! n ihy beauteous love ?

this singular use of the word objection in the sense of offer
has no parallel in the plays of Shakespeare.)

Ceunt/u. My fathei on his blessing hath commanded—
EJustrJ. That thou shall yield to me,

1 Another word indiscovcrablc in any genuine play of Shakespeare's, though
t (I beuevc) unused on occasion by sonic among the poets contemporary with
hu cubes yean.

342 The Gentleman s Magazine.

Countrts. Ay, dear my liege, your due.

Edward. And that, my dearest love, can be no less
Than right for right, and render ' love for love.

Ci'unteii. Than wrong for wrong, and endless hate for ha
But, sith I ice your majesty so bent,
I l:.i! my un» illin^ii! By my husband's love,
Y'oui lii^-li <-.i.uc, net BO R -p'-cl respected.
Can !>c my b«lp, bill thai yotn ml£lllllsss%i
Will overbear and awe these dear reganl.,
I bind my discontent to my content.
And what I would not I'll compel I will ;
Provided that yourself remove those lets
Thai Hand between your highness' love and mine.

/ Name them, f.iir countess, and by heaven I will

Cou$Hm li b il"i' UvOJ, that Hand between rrai love.
Tlut I would have choked up, my sovereign.

Edward. Whose lives, my lady ?

Countess. My thrice lovin;

YOUI ipucii, and Saltatory my wedded husband ;
WIiii living have that title in our love
That wi- can ii'H beaTOw bat by their death.

Edward. Ity opposition sMT.

CtMHfftt. So is your il.>ir.- : [| i!:- law ■
Can hinder you to execute the one.
Let it forbid you to attempt the other :
1 iiiiinni think you love me as you say
Unlr— vim di i make good what you have swum.

■ ..wn/. No ii-
Fairer thou ait by Bu thaa 1 1 I

ii IH.I M. -...

He r.wom an easy can i.-ic- ;

..if blood,'
Arrive that Sestos where my Hero lie*.

' That word vv.i- jm-iIi:i|.,ii, . nir good r, ,

1 Vet another ami x Mnguhu ml I so used or mien

Shakespeare.

■ Qu. Why, so is your desire : If that the law, etc. ?

• Sir. I should once have thought it Impossible that any mortal ear
endure the shock of this unspeakable and incomparable verse, and find
passage which oontarni it .in echo or a trace of the *'m«sic, wit, and ocad
ipeava, Hut in those days I had yet to leam what manner of ru
pricked ep to listen "when rank Thmitca ope* hit mastic jsws " El
Hoaner or of Shakespeare. [a a corner ol the preface to on cilitionof"

•pete * which beat name {correctly (pelt) of Qacen Vk*

youngest son prefixed to the name I have just transcriber1, a small pellet
dirt was flung upwards at me from behind by the " able editor " Una id
impalieat (0 Ggmrc in public as the volunteer valet or literary lackey nf
Leopold. Hcace I gathered the edifying assurance that ttiU mraras*
Isonowrsof literal. lad bora reminded of my bamlJei attempt* in

tare without a livery by the congenial music of certain foar-footed feilow-cntics

The Historical Play of King Edward III. 343

(Shakespeare, wc may observe, does once — but once only — make
use of the woid atrnt in this obsolete active sense.

But, en; we conld arrive the point proposed,
Cxsar cried, Help nc, Cassius, 01 I sink.

\Jh1ius Catur, Act i. Sc. 3.)

CoHMtru. Nay, j\y.. : : I make the river too

With their hcartblix.li that keep 001 low .; -.under ;
Of which mjr husbaii in.

EJmird. Thy beauty make* them gultty of ■ :.
And gives in evidence th.it the]
Upon which verdict I their judge condemn Ihcm.

Cetoitfti, idge I

Wit, i Mli heads,

TV
Thit pack it i.i k

EthtrarJ. What I U she rev

ComUeii. Resolute to be dissolved :' tod, thcrefopti thl
Keep but iliv word, great king, ind I am ihine.
Stand where thou dost ; I'll pan » little from thee ;
And »cc DOW I will yi.;M me In thy hands.
H< . Iisng my wedding knives ;

TV- DC, -in- 1 with it kill iliy ,|ucen.

And Icam by m.
And with the other I'll Jc-^atch my I-

i now lie* fast asleep within my heart ;

H (hey are gone, tea I'll consent to ll

Soch genuinely good wine as this needs no bush, Bat from this

onwards I au thing especially cotnmcndtblc in the

"Jituinder of the scene exo revitjr. The King of course

Wow-lodger* of hU r/» n in the neighbotaliooc' tad Heath. E-i i

<k|moK IWtttfnUy )il<l Iheii nail-,,' wiKHlnolo wdil MCaUod I" : biped

fwhuw partial nature had ■■ MtonlltV

■est and the due disgust with which he had discovered the uirfntcll tbal

to men to ignorant of music or the laws of music in verse, as my pretumpl
pitiable self ih* lest of metrical harmony lay not in an the fingers but

Mill ; • ■ bich hi ' "in writer)

"nuke* »<i n ■ Shake-

• . ret li nut M but )i

bnl kilo* intig enoi that a capi • (he

rear* menu of word-music was not to be gauged by length of ear, by hairiness of

•Id a* soon have
lit of HKaavring my own poor human organs againM those of the preside i

! .-id a u! qunUuning i :hc law to

nUmental

r:urt.

•lo pin, or rather a punning Latiniun, no) altogether out of Shake-
lint. Uut see the note preo

344 The Gentleman's Magazine.

abjures his purpose, and of course con e Countetw *

Lucrctia to the disadvantage of the Roman matte
son, Warwick, and the attendant lords; appoints >- iiis post

by sea or land; and starts for Flanders in a duly moral and military
state of mind

Here ends the first paxt of lite play; and with it all possible in-
dication, though never so shadowy, of the possible shadowy presence
of Shakespeare. At the opening of the third act we are thrown
among a wholly new set of characters and events, all utterly out of
all harmony and keeping with all that has gone before. Edward
alone survives as nominal protagonist; hut this survival — assuredly
not of the fittest— is merely the survival of the shadow of a name.
Anything more pitifully crude and feeble, more helplessly inartistic
and inrompo-sitc, than this procesi or pretence of juncture where
there is no juncture, this infantine shifting and shuffling of the
scenes and figures, it is impossible to find among the rudest and
weakest attempts of the dawning or declining drama in its first or
second childhood.

It is the less necessary to analyse at any length the three remain-
ing acts of this play, that the work has already been done to my hand,
and well done, by Charles Knight ; who, though no professed c: i
or esoteric expert in Shakei|>eurean letters, approved himself by dint
of sheer honesty and conscience worth rooie than the whole rotten
body of a Sham Shakespeare Society from loggerhead to trui ■■
tail. To his edition uf Shakespeare I r all readers

hus of further excerptl than I care t<> ,

The first scene of the third act is a storehouse of contemporary
commonplace. Nothing fresher lhan such si

following is to be gathered up in thin sprinklings from off the dry
Hat soil. A messenger informs the French king that he has i

offshore

The jiroud armndo (»V) of King Kdw«fd"« *V

V/M

Soato "« of with

glorious bright »i|«c<.
Their urcaimng ensigns wrought i
like lo .1 II of sundry flowers

Adorns tbc ruVcd howm of

and so on after the exacted and therefore feeblest fash

Maxlowitcs; with equal r

sense in the con

ensuing on this is , l pity and coi

contempt.

The Historieal Play of King Edward III. 345

the next scene we have a flying view of peasants in flight,
description of five cities on fire not undeserving of its place in
fcphy. immediately after the preceding sea-piece: but relieved by
»ci wealth of pleasantry as marks the following jest, in which the
w>* purblind eye will be the quickest to discover a touch of the
gmuinc Shakespearean humour.

lil Frnukman. What. i» it quarter-day. lint you remove,

And carry \k% tad I <uKK*i>c "*>?
mi Frrmiman. tjuaitr; da) > ay, and ■ piattering-day, I fear. (Huge I)

The scene of debate before Crcssy is equally flat and futile, vulgar
lad verbose; a scolding-match worthy of some pscudocritical Society
*hen assembled in conclave (or incarnate in type) for the demolition
tfin absent and unconscious antagonist, till one or two presiding
ipirits, enkindled by the fiery fray, plunge headlong or rise rapidly to
Ik point where blockhead melts in blackguard or blackguard sub-
mits into blockhead. Yet in this Sham Shakespearean scene of our
Jfcicnt pocticule's I have noted one genuine Shakespearean word,
lolely singular for its singlcm'.-

So may thy templet with Bcllona's hand
Be still adorned with laurel victory !

Id this notably inelegant expression of goodwill we find the same
of the word "laurel" as an adjective and epithet of victory
which ibus confronts us in the penultimate speech of the third scene
the first act of Antony and i Ytt>patra.

Upi-ti yum sword
Sit laiin-l ■
Be Mrewcd before your feet !

There is something more (as less there could not be) nf spirit and

•wemcnt in the bottl * CM wh( re Edward refuses to send relief to

«on, wishing the prince to win his spurs unaided, and earn the

■Sfruits of his fame single-hamlet 1 against the heaviest odds; but

forcible feebleness of a minor poet's f.incy shows itself amusingly

the mock stoicism and braggart philosophy of the King's rcassur-

retketion, ■ We have more sons than one."

e first and third scenes of the fourth act wc may concede

;ht merit to the picture of a chivalrous emulation in magnani-

between the Duke of Burgundy and his former fellow-student,

refusal to break his parole as a prisoner extorts from his friend

concession refused to his importunity as an envoy : but the

is by no means worthy of the subject.

346

The Gentleman's Magazine.

The limp loquacity of long-winded rhetoric, so natural to sBffl
and soldiers in an hour of emergency, which distinguishes the o»
loguc between the Black Prince and Audley on the verge of batik
is relieved by this one last touch of quasi Srnhwpowa thought**
style discoverable in the play of which 1 must presently take a short
— and a long — farewell.

Death's name U much mote mighty than hi« deed* r
Thy parcelling this power hath madt il more,
A-> many onils as lhr«c iny bands t-.in hold

Ate but >iiy ii.iniiiui of to Bang audi ;

Then all the world— am) call it lnu a power —

Easily ta'en up, anil ' quickly thrown away ;

But il" I stand to count them sand by sami

The number would confound my memory

And make a v ..f»ta*k

Which bru-i'ly i- ii" more indeed than urn:,

These quartered squadrons .mil 1 In- ■• regiment*

Before, behind us, and on cither hand.

Are but a power : When wc name a man,

His hand, his foot, his head, have several strengths ;

And being all but one self instant strength.

Why, nil this many, Audley, is bat one)

Ai 'ih.

He that hath fat m go ti-lN it by n

ii in- ihooM irii i in- Heps, ii 1.1IK bit hi

The dm] ■ t llmd,

And yet, thou km . ill it hut x rain.

There is but one France, one king of France,*
That France hnth no more kings ; and that same king
Hath km I'm- puiaml lepon of oat Ling;

And ivr have OOt i Then
For one to CM Uty.

liien emifi, mat ' eousti . Rich is the timi.t fitVOtml lict I

pass on this voluminous effusion of • Spirit smacking rather of
schools than of the field. The first six lines or so might pass mux
as the early handiwork of Shakespeare; the rest has as litt!
manner as his matter, his metre as his 1!

The poet can hardly again aftcT this cal

collapse. We find in the rest of this scene nothing better
remark than such poor catches at a word as this;

And Id I ho*; milkwhite messengers 0/ tine
Show il.j 1 ihii dangerous lime j

1 The simple substitution of the woril
the grammar bere— were that worth wfid
' Qu. So Uiere U but one France, etc ?

id " wn

1751* Historical Play of King Edward III. 347
^Bu'noas trick of verbiage which went nigh now and then to affect
^f adolescent style of Shakespeare, and which happens to fad iiscll
** admirably as unconsciously burlesqued in two lines of this very
*oae:
I wiU not five a penny for a life.
Not half a halfpenny
(Haifa halfpenny, I presume, is Sham Shakespearean for a farthing.)
tO ihun grim drain.
The verses intervening arc smooth, simple, and passably well
worded; indeed the force of elegant commonplace cannot well go
farther than in such lines as these.

Thyself art bruited and beni with many broil*.
And 'Uslagerus forepart with iron pens
Are teaed ' in thine honourable face ;
Tbou art a married man in this distress,
But danger wom me at a hluthinr; maid ;
Teach rac an answer to this perilous time.
Audlty. To die b all as common as to live ;
DC 11 choice, the other holds in chaw ;
1 ■ . ■ m begin 10 live

We tin purxuc ami Imnt tin- liSM 10 dSt :

: bud we, then wc blow, tad alto iced :
Then prcscotl] v, id »s a shade

Follows the body, so we follow death.
If then we hunt for denth, way do we fear it?
If we fear it, why do »c follow it ?

me intimate a doubt in passing, whether Shakespeare would ever
ire put by the mouth of any but a farcical mask a query so pro-
bative of response from an Irish echo— "Because we can't help.")

If we do fear, with fear ue do but aid
The thing we fear to aeiic on us the sooner ;
ii >.<• hen ao PMotTcd proffa

Can i.v.-nlin m iIh- 1 1 ixi it i if our fate :

so forth. Again the hastiest reader will have been reminded of
a passage in the transcendent central scenes of Measure for Measure .-

Merely, thou art death's fool ;
For him thou labour's! by thy flight to shun,
And yet runn'rt toward bin still ;

and hence also some may infer that this pitiful penny-whistle was
blown by the same breath which in time gained power to fill that
archangelic trumpet. Credat Zoilus Shakespearomastix, non ego.

1 N n-Shakctpcarean.

348

The Gentleman's Magazine.

The next scene is something better than passable, but demand
no special analysis and affords no necessary extract We may ju«
observe as examples of style the play on words between the flight ol
hovering ravens and the flight of routed soldiers, and the I
of the sudden fog

Which now hath hid the airy floor of heaven,
And made at noon a night unnatural
U|hi" the quaking and dismayed world.

The interest rises again with the reappearance and
Salisbury, and lifts the style for a moment to its own level
seigneur tout honneur; the author deserves some dole of
approbation for his tribute to the national chivalry of a Fr
as here exemplified in the person of Prince Charles.

Of the two next scenes, in which the battle of Poitiers is !
adequately " staged to the show," I can only say that if any i
believes them to be the possible work of the same hand which «•
before all men's eyes for all time the field of Agincourt, he ni
doubtless die in that belief, and go to his own place in the limbo of
commentators.

But a yet more flagrant effect of contrast is thruat upon oir
notice at the opening of the fifth act If in all the historial
groundwork of this play there is one point of attraction which *e
might have thought certain to stimulate the utmost enterprise ad
evoke the utmost capacities of an aspiring dramatist, it must sadf
be sought in the crowning scene of the story; in the scene of Qtt&
Philippa's intercession for the burgesses of Calais. We know ho*
Shakespeare on the like occasion was wont to transmute into goM*
verse the silver speech supplied to him by North's version of Amy"*"*
Plutarch.' With the text of Lord Bcrncrs before him, the author e*
King Edxvani III. has given us for the gold of Froissan n« cwn
adulterated copper, but unadulterated lead. Incredible as h ■*}*
seem to readers of the historian, the pocticulc has actually ccotrirw
so far to transfigure by dint of disfiguring him that this moit ook*
and pathetic scene in all the annals of chivalry, when passed thmp
the alembic of his incompetence, appears in a garb of transform^
verse under a guise at once weak and wordy, coarse and uncfciralrc*
The whole scene is at all points alike in its unlikene» to the***
manship of Shakespeare.

1 I chooac for a parallel Shakeitieare't uk of Plutarch if) tb« eoapoM* •
hia Roman plara wilier than hla UK 0* Hall and Ilaliuthcd 1b lite coapaitf* •
hi« English historic*, became Froiasul ia a model more properly to be act ap**
Plutarch than ipta Rotmtfatd ■-•< HalL

Tht Hislorital Play of King Edward III. 349

Here then I think wc may finally draw bridle ; for the rest of
the course is not worth running; there is nothing in the residue
of this last act which deserves analysis or calls for commentary.
We have now examined the whole main body of the work with
somewhat more than necessary care; and our conclusion is simply
this : that if any man of common reading, common modesty,
common judgment, and common sense, can be found to maintain
the theory of Shakespeare's possible partnership in the con
tion of this play, such a man will assuredly admit that the only
niblc or imaginable touches of his hand arc very slight, very
few, and very early, l-'or myself, I am and have always been per-
fectly satisfied with one single and simple piece of evidence that
Shakespeare had not a fingcT in the concoction of King Edward III.
He was the author of King Ilttiry V.

ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE.

350 The Gentleman t Magazine.

TOBA CCO-SMOKING.

THERK i BUldl diversity of opinion in this country about
tobacco-smoking, and very weak arguments arc used both for
and against the habit, by partisans on cither side. In other countries
tobacco-snioking has a more definite place. In Germany it is
jiiitc an institution; and nearly the same maybe said of France,
Austria, Italy, and Turkey. In America also it is the custom of the
country for men to smoke, and there is scarcely any difference of
opinion, cither among men or women, in any class of society, as to
the practice. Now, in England, . wc had the u

thesis of this. Then it was the exception here for men. and especially
for gentlemen, to smoke. Naval and military n ; hen smoked,

more or less, according as they had seen foreign service, but it was
quite the exception for gentlemen to smoki now

changed, the social position of the practice is altogctl
and in every class, to smoke is b ihc rule, just as it was the

exception.

It is remarkable how a habit, which the beginr 'ind*

nauseating and unpleasant, has extended over i i ..• globe.

Taking the United Kingdom, we find that in the year i ofl-

sumption of tobacco was 23,096,381 pounds, or equal to 13} ounces
per head; while in 1875 it had incr 19,051,830 pound",

one pound seven and-ahalf ounces luume,

therefore, that smoking is rapidly on I ind

it will be interesting ant n c-dmly and

judicially. There are several as
subject, anil I wi!

1 us as can
remember a quarter of a en ,ior

parents used to discourage the |> is too so

•he poor smoker. It was the fa* I ig as a

low vulgar habit, ' gentleman would

a chimney ol :.$.

I well rcmeir 1

marking a cl

Tobacco-Smoking. 351

m the estimate in which tobacco-smoking was held by respect-
ive middle-aged people some twenty yean; link, and 1 have no
that the present tolerance, not to say sanction, which society
to the smoker, would have been indefinitely postponed, but
increased facilities of travelling, which have, so *o speak,
ic our insularity, and brought us into closer union with the Con-
America. Notwithstanding all this, wc have still, in this
eccntry, a great deal of difference of opinion as to smoking, and
society may be regarded as divided into two hostile camps, the
■nkers and the anti-smokers. Of course there is a large mass of
PKfte having no opinion about the matter, but this may be said of
werjr subject from religion downwards. The two great divisions
•fcich I have assunv tokea and anti-smokers, must be again

d: each class consists of two groups or subclasses.
The class anti-smoki ri consists of ( i ) reasonable men, (2) fanatics,
(he same subdivision applies to smokers.

In the class ami-smokers, the reasonable men of course do not

they have a strong dislike to the habit, believe it to be

serious to health and longevity, think it a waste Of time, and one

jnOsbly leading to drinking habits. Such men really object to the

of the weed. They know something about the subject, and,

•»ing thought it out according to their lights, have come to the

seclusion that the disadvani of smoking largely over-balance

idrintages. Probably at one time they may have smoked a little,

tncrer took kindly to the habit ; in fact, cither from idiosyncrasy

torn some dyspeptic stale, could not enjoy it, but on the contrary

hasd it increasingly unpleasant and decidedly injurious to appetite

•4 health, and therefore very wisely discontinued the practice, and

»fter ranged the:- a the class of non-smokers. If the

•fcect of smoking be raised during after-dinner conversation, these

•kavill declare oracularly that the habit is injurious, that they tried

•ftemsdves, and found it so. You cannot convince these men that,

their case, some special state of constitution may exist to which

totocco was inimical, or that perhaps the habit was not persevered in

a BtSciently lengthened period, so as to acquire first the toler-

*and then the enjoyment of smoking. The wives, sisters, and

iters of these men, as a rule, hold the same moderate views as

vmale relations. I believe that tobacco-smoking is, in a certain

ft, a ladies' question. There can be no doubt that the odour of

breath is not improved by tobacco-smoking, and that the female

jwion of our establishments, with whom we arc on osculatory

terns, are entitled to be heard on this matter. Again, it is quite

352

The Gcntlemaris Magazine.

certain that the smell of a room is not improved by the odour*
stale tobacco-smoke, and this applies with double force if dgU
have been smoked; even the most inveterate smoker will
a room unpleasant in the morning where cigars hive
smoked over-night. If only good tobacco be smoked in
dining-room during the evening, the smell is immediately
by opening the windows for half an hour in the
on the contrary, if cigars be smoked, it will take days before I
room lose* the odour of stale cigar-smoke, which is sickening 10 1
people. Now, as we all do not possess smoking- or billiard-rooms i
our houses, it is certainly a matter upon which our wives should
heard, when we render our dining or other rooms, used by
female part of our households, unpleasant by smoking in therm
the evening. In this matter, however, as in most others, a good)
sensible wife will accommodate her taste to that of her husband;
she will be wise to do so, because if a man be really a smoker, J
his enjoyment of the weed be interfered with at home, he will
probably take to indulging in his luxury away from home, and i
club, the billiard-room, the music-hall, or the public-house will I
him a frequent guest, banished from his fireside by an inju
wife. I repeat, then, that tobacco-smoking, in its seven] aspects, i
worthy of the attention of women. I said that the class anti-smoke
had a second division, tiiafamatia. Now, tobacco is not peculiar i
this respect. I believe there are few subjects without fanatics, i
as a rule we find them the most ignorant portion of the class to i
hey belong, and especially ignorant, as well as blindly preju
about the subject on which they rave. But this is a very general I
We find, for instance, the fierce religious polemist 10 be ofiea
shallowest divine and the poorest scholar ; and if one were to |
such an uninviting study as an investigation of the mental calibre i
the fanatics in the various doxus and elogUs, they would be found t
least intelligent and the most conceited. The fanatics,
continue to make a great deal of noise about any subject
affect, and often by their persistency get a following. I do
think that the fanatic anti-smoker is to be beard as against I
smoker ; the former will shriek out axainst tobacco, but then

no personal experience, and th evidence of tb

from his personal experience, completely outweighs the
evidence of the fanatic. It is curious to what lengths prejudice i
carry an otherwise sensible person. I know a man who is so viokntly
hostile to smoking, that he < anyone he sees with a pips i»

his mouth little better than a blackguard. IJkc the bull and I

the id

Tcbacco-Smoking. 353

cloth, tobacco-smoke will always .1 this man BOO

outburst of unreason. Again, 1 have met with tin- most hospitable
people, who spare nn trouble <>r expense to make you happy an<l
comfortable at their houses, ami yd allow rOtahct

against smoking so to warp their belter feelings, that they refuse tlte
smoker tltc opportunity of enjoying his weed ; ami thus destroy the
•ure of what would otherwise have been an agreeable

noxe illustration of the ■ ad I have tfa them. A

lady whom I know 1 D inveter..: ; how ranch, she dis-

my poor friend never discovered before marri.i
he was soon informed on the lubjecl after l! ting ceremony

had taken place. His wife refused to remain in the house if he
smoked indoors. My friend ited, argued, insisted j hi

weak, poor fellow, and he yielded ; but he must have his smoke.
Von might see him on a cold, or wet, or snowy winter's evening,
walking up and down his with great coal and umbrella,

enjoying his pipe l*forc bedtime. Bcf' in kg on to the next part

of my 1 will give an of the ignorance of smoking

habits which prevailed some twenty years back. A friend of mine,
having taken his degree at C n ordained, went tu

two maiden aunts in the country, who looked forward with
pleasure to the young clergyman':, visit 1I<: had one fault in their
eyes, he smoked ; but the old ladies were goodnaturcd, so they asked

illagc surgeon, who they knew was a smoker, to meet their
ncphi 1 er the first day of his vi r consideration

diil not even stop here, for 1 hated two spittoons, ami, in

their ignorance of smoking habits, din ir old servant to lay

one to each gentleman with his finger-glass at dessert.

I spoke of the smokers being divisible into two subdivisions also

— the moderate smokers, and the fanatics, or slaves to tobacco. The

fbrma sees, 1 imagine, the greater part of the adult

lation in this country, Th< use tobacro withmu

:. and arc tempera t B ,.f thi

Me men ought to be in all thi

l, sleeps, and takes exercise or enjoyment in moderation ; and

into excess, I do
inch fear that a careful man v. too much.

verondulgc I will presently 1

recognised, and, like the fatigue conscquc: 1 walk, are

toon reco leave no permanent evil results. Our

legislature cent years exhibited its consideration for the

smoker by compelling the railway companies to run sraokit,

,si A A

354

The GcniUtnatis Magazine.

riagcs to their trains, and the House of Commons itself is
with its smoking-room, and so now is every good-class hotel
we see how public opinion supports the moderate smoker, of
I shall have more to say when speaking of the action of tobacco
must now pass on to consider that class of men — and their
is by no means inconsiderable — who are slaves to the habit of
ing. As a medical man, I am constantly coming in contact
men who arc perfect victims to the abuse of tobacco, whose
and body arc alike suffering from this excess. Such men
nuisance to society, and take no enjoyment in anything
tobacco play a part in the performance. These men think a dii
party a martyrdom, because it means some hours' deprivation
tobacco ; a ball is not to be tolerated ; a lecture or scientific m
is an abomination ; anything, in short, which may in the lea*
illtClftlt wiflj the craved-for pipe, is looked upon with a1
These men begin to smoke immediately after breakfast, often
and lose no opportunity during the day of indtilg
of place, company, or consideration for others ; frequently,
sitting up late into the night to continue their practice. I
met with some strange instances of this bondage to tobacco,
city man that I know gets half an hour for his luncheon of
in the middle of the day ; but he manages to cat a few bi
; office hours, and spends his half-hour walkin; down

the quays smoking. This man walks to the city every
am his home, the distance being three miles ; he also walks
every evening; and he smokes incessantly during the wall:
He dines at six o'clock, and then smokes without ceasing unBl
time. On Sunday he smokes all day. ar,].! during meals : hr
never attend a place of worship, because it would curtail his
He will never go into society with his wife, and, indeed, will
illy talk to hcT at home, as it di iking. In

ects this man is a good husband and father. Another aoji
ancc of mine, who is a highly intellectual and deeply-read man,
tolerate nothing that D me his smoke. At dinner

a perpetual drive to get done, so I i his pipe ; he want!

pudding, cheese, or dessert ; taking these would involve loss of
and put off the smoking period a few minutes longer. He Gki
requires no tea or supper, protesting he is not hungry,
docs not wish to be disturbed in his smoke. Another man tl
know is in a government office, and when the usual pui
occur, such as the Queen's birthday, his treat is to lie in l>ed ill
and smoke. The genUcman is married, and ahraya smokes hrj

Tobacco-Smoking. 355

pipe in bed Such are a few of the social phases of tobacco-
smoking.

[ have divided smokers into four groups. Of course I know the
division is artificial, and that each group runs into the other ; it was

I necessary, however, to make some classification, and the above
swered the object I had in view; but I shall now proceed to consider
what I have chosen to call the health aspect c>f tobacco- smohing. Phy-
Jogbtt tell us alarming things about the action of nicotine, or the
active principle of tobacco, on the animal functions. I will quote a
fe». upon this subject, not because 1 think that the

aspect of smoking can be settled in the laboratory of the physiologist,
but in order that my readers who arc inclined towards excess in
tobacco may clearly understand that they arc using a well-known
poison ; and although this may be said, in a degree, of many other

I think it well to point out that tobacco
• :-.t dradh Dr. Milncr Fi v.niingon

ta sedan, says, "Tobacco is a deadly poison,* ting powerfully upon the
heart. No very large dose of it is requisite tokill — quite an infinite

indeed, compai ! harmless!; led. This

is due to the fact that nicoti usendal principle of tobacco,

finds its way out of the blood by the kidneys very quickly, and thus
Bated as 1 Dr. Sydney

Ringer, one of the highest authorities in this >n the action of

drags, writes thus of tobacco in his //am/A-vh t>f Therapeutics : —
'• When introduced into the body in any quantity, it produces nausea
ticss, with great muscular weakness, and trcm!

ideas are confused, the sight may be dimmed,
ilcc is weak and feeble is covered with a

clammy perspiration j it also paralyses the heart." "S111
daces in those unaccustomed to it many of the effects above en

Is no doubt a very harmful habit,
distort* lion, and greatly lessens the appetite, and incapa<

those ilmsc for both mental and bodily occu-

night,
1 1 smoker has generally
>ated tongue." "The habit has also

idness. Dr. K; rhesympti

..ccss soon cease when the habit is d
work on the Action sf
\.m smoke of tobat

•11. If it were allowed to accuffitl-
of smoking would probably be taVai. \v Vs>

AK1

356

The Gentleman i Magazine.

certainly absorbed to some extent, but il ly iato the

urine, where it may be detected by simple chemical •- .alhe

vnall quantity at any one time in the system will prod
marked intoxication in some persons. It is only not a porno,
because slowly taken into the system in small amounts, and ekw
natcd pari paisu" " It exerts an influence on the heart and cm*-
lation, tad it may lead to syncope ami death S- !ewo(

the opinions of our best authoiitu upon ! action <>( tobacrooo
the animal economy, :iwl possibly some ofmy t< i think me

inconsistent when I say that, not v. ■ of the

above opinions, I am by no Ac tobacco-

smoking in adult men. I do not think it inimical to a high order of
health, or to longevity, and certainly not to the very highest flights of
intellectual success. With Hyron 1 am inclined to think,

Sublime lobaco ■ ' ■ hi i-l to wd

( been the inr't labour or the Turkman's -•>

Now, it is well to consider the question apart from prejudice.
Is tobacco-sm. detrimental to health?

The non-smoker declares the practice injurious, the tmokc:
contrary, and the formrr calls up the physiologist in sup,
case, and no doubt he Is a rehab! But this same witnest

will tell you that aji too, and y Id invokes,

and drinks and lives! Facts must previ « and

arguments, and w* cannot deny the Gat illions of men unokc

more or less, and yet maintain the high of health,

perform the most fatiguing bodily labour, and are capable of the
highest intellectual efforts. As 1 said above, the scientific physiolo-
gist cannot settle this question. It will help us in this investigation
if we reflect upon the general effects of smoking an nations,

such as Germany, America, France or England : . if «*r take

certain classes of men in these countries, such as soldiers; and thirdly,
if wc examine educated intelligent individuals.
do nations gards the average duration ol

life of smokers am! Vers. It is tt

of man has not altered since tob
speaking generally, we do not find the aver-: Sorter

Germany ox America, where smoking is almost in

this conn B still a la (the papulation do

not smoke. Then again, if smoking wo

poison some assert, wc should fit moke,

had a decided and easily rccogn ;c aa compared

Tobcuco-Smoking. 357

n. But such is not the case. The anti-smoker will here
xt you by saying, if the average duration of life be not cur-
r tobacco, you cannot deny that it is slightly injurious to
hat it gives rise to a little dyspepsia in all cases, which lowers
ral tone of the system, and thus interferes with the highest
1 of national health. I do deny this. If it were the case,
ibeovers would, ere this, have demonstrated that the life of
;ei is not so good as that of the non-smoker. It would be
lpossible for a man day by day, and year by year, to continue
rcr slight a degree any injurious practice, without ultimately
he penalty in the shape of injured health and shortened life ;
tea were the case, our assurance offices would have recognised
and wc should have one more question added to their long
{ueries for the proposing assurer, viz. "Do you smoke?"
i one can form an opinion, there is no difference in the
o( adult male life in any country in Europe, which can in
litest degree be traced to smoking ; and if we take our
try, where we find smoking habits increasing year by year,
any decline in die male longevity, I ljelicve the very
to be the fact. Secondly, if we take groups of men in this
ther country, such as soldiers or sailors, and most carefully
te their state of health, we shall be unable to discover anything
Id lead us to believe that smoking is injurious. Now, it is noto-
u nearly all sailors and soldiers smoke, yet wc do not find
y suffer mora from amaurosis, or blindness, than an equal
of the civil population who do not smoke. Nor have I
e to learn that the so-called smoker's heart — a form of palpi-
is more common in the army or navy than among the general
The same may be xaid about tremor of the hands, and other

r\ which arise from excess in tobacco ; while as to any
the moral qualities, the German soldiers, who fought and
Franco-German war, were smokers almost to a man, and
can question their remarkable courage and endurance.
take individuals, and ask sensible, thoughtful men who arc
whether they have experienced any appreciable injury from
and I l«lievc the answer will be a negative. They
you that smoking conduces to the maintenance of MW
tor/ore saw. I am aware that men are liable to deceive
es on such a matter, but I am speaking of men not given
Weption. Medical men, for instance, smoke very generally,
te been informed by several that they can do their work
fly, and feel better, if they smoke moderately ; but if, from

358

The Gentleman's Magazine.

some accidental circumstance, this moderation should, on occanta,
degenerate into excess, injurious > follow. Let ree qoete

one or two opinions on the subject. Sir Robert Chhsliaon wnet,
"No well-ascertained ill effi been shown to result froo

the habitual practice of tobacco.smoking ; Dr. Ridurd*»

says, " Perhaps it is the only luxury no* injurious.'* And !*•

(a, one of the greatest writers on therapeutics, remarks, "Is
habitual smokers the practice, when moderately indulged in, pro-
duces that remarkably soothing and tranquil ■ ibe mind

which has caused it to be so much adopted by all ctetlfl of society."
The study of individual smokers must convince any reasotuWt
mind that the pr.-.i lice is not destructive to body and mind, as sow
assert. Look, for instance, at Prince Bismarck and Count Moitkc.
They smoke continually, and yet they arc two of tlie most remarkable
men in Europe. I know that some of our greatest physicians and
surgeons smoke, and also that at the Bar some of the most i
guished men enjoy their cigars. How, then, can tobacco poison
mind and body ? I am, of course, asking this question with regard
to moderate smoking. No one can be more I u to adnui

that excess in tobacco is a great cviL E> may be asked,

what is excess ? This is, I must say, an extremely difficult question
to answer. What may be excess in one man is only modenu
another. There is the greatest difference as to the Bm>
men smoke Just as some men can eat a heavy meat meal three
times a day, and feci no symptom of indigestion, so there are many
men who can smoke large quantities ol injury. I

repeat that wc cannot exactly define the nan may

smoke without deleterious res- and as the

result of considerable observation, I bel nay smoke

a couple of ounces of tobacco a • he « not

overs! the boundary of moderation <%a of

■ ng is lest this moderation should dcgener.i
in this risk to I rie» or

indulgences. If this argument is to Ik* used against tobat •
must also apply it about every habit of nu idily adn

■ seen many cases of v .1 cxecMffe

smoking ; but I must also add that ! l which

moderate smok t bene6< i I jy, however, be

asked, How can tobacco possibly be any advantage t ' The

answer to this question it, tl
nervous system. Medical men v the u

■fcohoJ iftea fatigue, 01 erere menial cii'nrt. lust in die amir *..i

Tobaeco-Smoking. 359

j acts on some people, bat not on all. Sir James Paget, one of
I grt-.i MOpben in the medical profession, in a recent paper

writo, " Considering how largely our nature has been changed from
I it. M ivagc state) "by the gradual developments of society,

id by the various habits, dispositions, and capacities therewith asso-
ciated, it is in the highest degree probable that with these changes
we should have beneficial adjustments of different foods or other
means of sustaining us in our work. Among thc-.c we may reckon
: greater part of the comforts, and of what now seem to be the
necessities o: i ed, that is, out Batumi --taie — such as wheaten

bread, potatoes, cultivated traits, and veil-fed meat, and similarly
among these we may reckon, unless there be dear reason to the con-
trary, such drinks as tea, coffee, alcoholic drinks, and, I even venture
(0 think, tobacco, though probably for only much smaller groups of
men." I have known men so fatigued after a severe day's work as to
be unable to cat food ; but only let them smoke for a short while,
and then they can eat awl enjoy a hearty meat Again, ask the
sportsman who has missed his luncheon, and he will tell you how a
pipe of tobacco will lessen the sense of fatigue, and enable him to
continue his sport without food for a long time. The power of
tobacco to compensate, to a certain extent, the want of food is well
known. Tobacco has also some special advantages for some in
dividuals. For some it acts as an expectorant, and enables many ID
asthmatic to breathe more comfortably. It is also well known to be
of great use in cases of habitual constipation. But I believe it is its
qua soother of the over-wrought, tired, and worried brain,

thai hacco-smoking so universal in this age of competi-

tion and excitement. 1 have no doubt that mental equilibrium has
often be the soothing influence of smoking ; excitement

and tr mil teat of brain tissue

has been diminished, «en rescued from insanity,

men smoke ; tl • health aspect of tobacco. It

is not for the taste or the odour that we smoke, but because of
' t of tobacco on our nervous system ; and
hence the good of smoking after the day's work is over, mind and
body being benefited by a moderate use of tobacco in the even-
'•'ith the constant pi its aroma around him, tho

ian philosopher works out the profoundest of his works of
thought." I think that smoking, like alcohol, is much more bene-
ficial und worry of
the 1 .ruing, immediately after Uiak-
fast, is curtail Dus. The meal has not been du&etved, \.Yvc

36o

The Gentleman's Magazine.

system is still unnourished by the food, and is practically (utiag .
therefore the heart is very liable to be depressed seriously by tbe
a of the nicotine. I know that smokers say the morning fift
nicest of .ill. It maybe so; but all I it is certainty

the one most calculated to hurt the a • moniy. As lo o

being the most eoji this is purely a matter of habit;

UStaSWel appetite in the morning, bccaoK

med tn li.i-.x: that meal lag e day, so with

this morning smoke : if we postpone smoking until the evening, «
oon lose the appetite for it in the- And here I woold

enter ray strongest protest against smoking amoi daring

adolescence. I agree with Dr, Fothcrgill, that " totocco, though a
ess associate for grown men, is a dangerous and seductive ac-
quaintance for I Ml opinions agree that smol.
before the fhwx red. The growing lad should be aware that
by his indulgence he may interfere with his development as a robust
man. Onc-.md-tv.enty is quite soon enough for people to begtn
smoking, if they wish in after years to derive benefit and not harm
from the practice. And for mere boys, between fourteen and t
to indulge much in tobacco is complete folly. I watch, with regret,
the number of youths who pass my house each morning smoking.
They have just breakfasted, and are hurrying to thecity. They smoke
while going to town, and, as I explained above, are still Casting,
as far as having received due nourishment from the morning meal a
concerned. What happens ? Why this. When, they arrive in town
they feel depressed, and begin the day with a glass of " bitter " or one
of dry sherry. Disastrous result* to the health of these foolish youths
follow sooner or later, and I promise thetn they will not be able to
say in after life with Shakesjxiare :—

Though 1 look old. yet I am Strang ami lattjr,

< ver did apply
Hot imi rcbcltiou* liquor* in cay :

On the other hand, 1 do not think it well tbi
men, who have long been habitual smokers, to di> il>c j

tice. I believe 1 ba< evil results ensue. I

agree in the ad eminent com ; .oca

friend of mine i ntted him, and said he was a great smoker,

(vised ban to beg

MUfl

ii9 one point more wli.

Tobacco-Smoking. 36 1

aisihi»: Does smoking lead to drunkenness? Now, if the answer
to ihij question be in the affirmative, tobacco deserves to be at
once banished from the list of our luxuries : and every good citizen
flight to endeavour to limit the use of a substance destructive alike
to the health and htppinex of the nation. It is chiefly to this
phase of the question that the anti-tobacconist addresses himself,
ud for which he reserves his most violent diatribes. He avers that
moling always leads to drinking. But if we regard the matter
jndirislly, I think the evidence is quite the other way. In the first
jhee, women, who are unfortunately too often drunkards, do not
unoke ; and the vice of excessive drinking is, in proportion, more
• the increase among women than among men, while smoking
» Uxgcly increasing among the male sex. Again, it is well known
that the confirmed drunkard will invariably give up smoking as
son as drink enslaves him. When he becomes a drunkard he
•ill cease to be a smoker. Hut it may be argued that here the harm
ttdone long since, and that, although the confirmed drunkard may be
nuble to enjoy tobacco, yet it was smoking which in the first instance
led him on to drink. This is pure- assumption, and is contrary to the
(pinion and experience <>f thoughtful men who have studied the
natter. I have now, for several years, closely analysed tobacco-
Holing from this point of view, and I am convinced that there is
no tvidence to prove that smoking leads to drunkenness. That the
Feat majority of drinking men smoke is no proof, because the larger
number of the adult male population in this country now smoke. It
8,00 the contrary, well known that the thorough smoker prefers what is
tailed a dry pip*. I readily admit that to many men a little stimulant
•coders the pipe more enjoyable ; some prefer coffee or tea, others a glass
of ale 01 claret, while to many a glass of spirit and water is most agree-
able And why not ? We do the same with our meals. I can sec
■0 hum whatever in the moderate glass being taken with the evening
pipe by such as like it, any more than I can see harm in taking a
( of sherry with fish or soup at dinner. We do not object to the
nbination of lobster sauce and cucumber with our salmon, or to
with our whitebait ; why, then, cry out against the smoker
his combination ? The glutton and the drunkard must not
with the nun who is temperate in all things. Further, it is
l&ct that, while the Turks are great smokers, they are the most ab-
nious of nations. Again, the Italians are inveterate smokers, but
, taking them as a nation, they are most abstemious. On the other
the Scotch perhaps drink more spirit than any other people,
ud yet we do not find smoking nearly so general in Scotland as in

The Gentleman's Maga

362

Italy. In short, a man who is a drunkard is so independently,
often in spile of being a smoker. Excessive smoking and drinking
together, not as cause and effect, but as the consequence of a
and vicious nature, easily yielding to every indulgence and temp]
and rushing headlong into excess in all things. Lastly, it may
urged that at least smoking excites thirst, and in this way encourages-
ilrinking habits. But so docs playing cricket or eating York ham
This argument may equally be used against all our out-door amuse
merits, and many of our ordinary articles of food I myself do n
believe that smoking fen take sometimes a stir

with their pipe, not because they arc thirsty, but because the two — I
bmd and cheese, or bread and butter — go n 1 M all tb

things we may say with Virgil,

Dcus nobis hoc otk fecit

FREDERICK H. DALY, SCO.

FIJI is the youngest of our colonies. It was as recently as 1874
that Thakombau, the titular king of that group of islands,
«ded his dominions to the Queen of England, and MM her his club
m token of submission. Thakombau's petrel Ml by no means un-
tndbi. There were other chief* in the country almost as influential
» himself whose consent to the act of cession had to be obtained.
Among these was M.i;iiu, a prince of Tongan extraction, who reigned
supreme over the eastern islands of the Fijian archipelago. He
*u Thakombau's most formidable rival, and was known to be averse
'o the project of cession, though his consent thereto — it need hardly
tw* be said — was given in the end.

Negotiation* on this subject were still in progress when I pro-
tttded from LevtJca to Loma Lonia on board one of Her Majesty's
Aips. Ixima l.oma is the principal place in the island of Vanua
IWavu, and the headquarters of Maafu.

It was a delightful trip of nineteen hours, at first among islands
tftarious sixes ; but afterwards through a calm expanse of open sea.
^unrig and after dinner the ship':; band played a selection of music,
^ when this was over wc remained on deck smoking and talking.
% degrees, my companions, except those who were on duty on
■fish, went below and turned in. Feeling indisposed for sleep, I
"*;td on deck to enjoy the balmy night, and, as the houTS wore on,
' ^solved to continue there and see the sun rise. I certainly was
""aided.

On the sky in the far east, streaks of pale saffron deepened till a
■*iwr glow anoke and overspread them. The extreme rim of the
■^dark yet clearly defined, was as a ridge beyond which a mighty
ktttce lad been kindled. Overtopping this, presently, one blazing
°t*mshot out over the opaque Surface of waters heaving expectant.
«» followed another, and another. Heaven Hushed and flamed.
the sun arose in glorious majesty. Soon after, the ocean was all
•Be sparkle. A merry radiance — a KVpArvr MfiSpa* yiXaf /in,
**/Esehylus has it —was diffused abroad.

And still the screw which impelled us spun round ; and still our

364 The Gentleman's Magazine.

trick of seething foam kept rushing horizon wards ; and over it there
still skimmed, rose, and hovrcrcd birds of whitest plumage. The eye
is fascinated by their restlessness. As they descend swiftly with out-
stretched wing, so close as to brush bubbles from the surge, one
waits to see them alight fluttering!)- and snatch a brief repose
amid those watery valleys. But they never pause : they never seem
to tire.

Land had been long in sight, at first dim, bathed in faint lilac
mists ; but now, with swelling outline and rich colour, plainly per-
ceptible. A coral reef, twenty-four miles around, encircles Vanua
Balavu, and other smaller windward islands of the Fijian group. To
the south-cast is one of those openings, distinct but none too wide,
which those laborious little zoophytes — the coral worms — would
I seem to have left as a passage for ships. As we entered, the
scene was brilliant and new to my eyes. The long sweeping rollers
were hurling themselves on the unyielding barrier, which, checking
them in mid career, sent them spurting high into the air, to fall again
in showers of rainbow-tinted spray. Once within the reef, the
water was of glassy smoothness. Yet our progress was slow, and
p'.i/^lingly tortuous— at least, to me it seemed so. But caution was
necessary. The lake-like expanse through which we were gliding
was in places of a dimpled oilincss that indicated the presence
of coral patches beneath ; besides, from the position of the sun
just then, and the blinding reflection from his rays on the water,
the danger of grounding was increased. No such calamity, however,
befell us.

Wc were off Loma Loma. Our speed slackened and ceased.
There came the whir of letting go the anchor, with the splash
commotion of its entry into the water. When the fuss
on deck incidental to this operation had subsided, we swung
broadside on to a short jetty of loose stones which does duty as a
landing-place.

How still it all seemed ! Wondering whetl.> were any

movement on shore, I borrowed a glass, ami with n\ aid, soon
perceived that there were figures, single and grouped, standing
motionless, noting our approach. The land near the beach was flat,
almost on a level with the water ; off it, a canoe or two rocked
gently. There were habitations to be seen through openings in the
trees — some mere huts, so green themselves as to be hardly dis-
tinguishable from the surrounding vegetation, others neat cdi6cet,
in the erection of which the hand of civilised man had cvi.
a share. The natives at Loma Loma arc now well ai customed to

A Day at Loma Lotna, 365

the appearance of Her Majesty's ships. Not so very long ago, the
ifihtof roch purling wonders would have scared and enraged them
too. They would have sought to prevent the landing of the intruders,
« fled to the depths of their woods, there to consult as to measures
of defence, and look to their clubs and poisoned anows. But these
day« are gone. 'ITiey tender a ready welcome to the kai fapalagi

» (white man) now.
The canoes I have mentioned were approaching us from the
*Hcrc. They were six feet long, or less, very narrow and of the
rudest construction, being simply stout logs of wood scooped into boat-
kkc form. In the stern of each sat a naked brown boy, paddling
*ith all his might, and piloting his craft dexterously enough. One
had a little cargo of pineapples, shaddocks, and bananas on board.
The other had nothing to sell, but was desirous of exhibiting his skill
*n diving ; and in reply to his urgent entreaties, a fourpenny-piece
wai cast into the water beyond him, where it circled slowly as it
s*ik. In an instant, the young diver had dropped in head foremost
*ft*r it, almost without a splash, kicking his canoe topsy-turvy, and
■ending his [Kiddle adrift in his eagerness. He was up again, with
*"* prize in his mouth, immediately. Then he had to right his ship,
8<t himself in again, and bale out the water which had collected at
"•* bottom — all which feats he performed in a surprisingly short
$P*ccof time. But ere he had finished, an old uniform button, or
Perhaps another coin, had been flung in, and over he went again in
* **ice. This time, the vendor of fruit was tempted to try what
*** could do in the same way, and in he plunged as well. The divers
^Ust hare knocked heads pretty sharply under water, and I know
not which got the button, but they rose panting and still struggling
*° the surface, and there floundered, to the infinite amusement of
^bolder*.

Before this aquatic diversion had terminated, I went on shore with

l***"ee companions, one of whom was acquainted with the enterprising

^^mer of a "store," which was an object conspicuous from our

***«horage. Thither he conducted us. I found the place, as I ex-

fc^eted. an emporium of every variety of merchandise, a mart where all

***«diwning wants which come with civilisation can be gratified. An

^Iderbng, in his shirt sleeves, was displaying the glories of a printed

^^lieo to two Tongan damsels, difficult to please ; and a little savage,

^no had just purchased a broom three times his own length, seemed

**ttious to test its quality by brushing our faces with it as we entered.

**V owner was at the receipt of custom. He met us courteously,

**ok us into his house hard by, and allowed us to sit a bit in easy

366 The GentUmans Magazine.

chain in his deep dark verandah. The sun's force was waxing fierce
outside, but here it could not reach us. What an clysium of coolness
vras this dim, draughty retreat, from which, through a veil of drooping
branches, we saw our good ship riding peacefully at anchor t A atrip
of garden lay in front of us. i Here bloomed the scarlet hibitcut,
here were crofans and dracanat in plenty ;. up the posts, and over
the roof of the verandali, the granadilla clambered or hung festooned.
Next the strip of garden came a strip, about as wide, of sparkling
sand shcli-sprinkled, moistened by wavelets which strove to crash,
but only prattled, as though mimicking the hurly-burly on the
reef beyond. These influences were soothing. Hut we had not
landed to sit and dream. So wc took leave and started forth on a
ramble.

Imagine a woodland avenue from fifteen to twenty feet in *
carpeted with soft turf, and bordered on each side li
reed palisade, within which bread-fruit trees, cocoa-nut palms, and
li;manas flourish in tropical abundance. I arc

•.e branches meet and mingle overhead, above y.

path a l< tug Upon v,!iu

In places where the scret ikea, or less denv? m»

indeed pierce through, and r of gold across the sward, or

k its breadth with blotches of ardent light Ilut this is seldom.
The green vista stretching away and narrowing to no: the

far distance, is for the most part in deepest shade. Along this we
walked.

Dusky figures, almost nude, issuing from openings in the fence of
reeds, crossed the avenue on ahead from time to lime, an
pearcd in an opposite enclosure parlicd and passed

carrying baskets of fruit or loads of yams and sugarcane*.
clothing was of the scantiest certainly, bn : vantage

r lithe and graceful figures. Their bea ulepcndcni <k ■

■ bold, humble without being •<■)• iteppet

to one side as wc passed, and did • Hh

presently, if «re looked bel were sun I aa

And no wonder ! •.•arnncc of th e

B be strangely droll

I heard neither ^ng . air was

silent, except thai me, from tar and near. I

sound of wood meeting wood. was not unpleaair

car, lias been noticed, 1 find, by

recorded their experiences in these regions. ■■

A Day at Loma Loma. 367

the sound. Now I am not attempting the feeblest play on a word
when I state that this was caused by the fact that divers women
in the surrounding enclosures were occupied in making tafia, such
being the name given to the native cloth. As we advanced this
tapping became still more frequent. We heard it on all sides. We
passed before an enclosure of greater dimensions than the others.
Ita bamboo paling was higher, its belt of trees more stately and
umbrageous. From the opening which gave access to it we saw that
the domain within looked inviting, for oranges and pineapples were
ripening there, and the trim, undulating greensward was dotted with
cocoanut palms ni trees, and aloes. Ruff-coloured houses and
sheds occupied the background. The making of tafia was pro-
ceeding briskly, to judge by the noise. Now, we had a fancy to see
how this fabric is made, so we entered We were in fact now in
Maafu's own particular territory, the enclosure within which dwell
his immediate retainers and domestics, not to mention the soldiers
forming his. body-guard.

Beneath, .1 leafy tamarind sat a girl as busy as a bee over her tafia,
hammering hi • : linst another tree, watching her

movements, and exchanging a word with her now and then, stood
a youth. We, in our customary free-and-easy way, seated ourselves
on the trunk of a felled tree, which lay close by, and watched her
too.

Tafia is made from the bark of the paper mulberry, a quantity of

is peeled from the tree in long strips and deposited in a

: g stream, until this soaking process lias reduced its fibres to a

pulpy mass. It is then spread in layers on a smooth surface of

. and beaten out flat with a wooden mallet, thi ■Mob

are grooved horizontally. Owing to the glutinous nature of the sap

of tfu be pieces are joined together with ease. The edge of

one having been wetted, and placed so as to overlap the edge of the

the seam thus formed is also beaten with the mallet, till it

becomes as Jrtout and strong as the : ul make it.

After being left to bleach in the sun, it is glazed with a solution of

e its borders arc stained in fanciful patterns. Fijian

gentlemen, disposed to be dandies, appear with fathoms of this cloth

twixtcd around their loins. None Oi K seems to be spared for the

poor ladies who make it, but never have the satisfaction of putting

it oo. They nay weal linen or calico, but not . _".. Many years

ago — before the weda of Christianity had been sown in these islands

ijries — a woman who dared to wear tafia

waa held to have committed a dire offence, inasmuch as she -«*&

368 The Gentleman's

infringing a custom, and then of self- adornment

from which others of her sex, by general consent, abstained. The

tort of treatment which such a one had to expect is described

thrilling anecdote given us by Captain Wilkes in his hi

the United States Exploring Expedition. " At Lcvuka," he say*,

"an old woman was {minted out to me who once took it

her head to wear a small piece of tafia, with which she showed

herself in the village, whereupon the other women fell upon her,

and, after beating her almost to death, bit off her nose, and left her

a monument of her own vanity and of the ferocity of the fair «ex of

Fiji"

Our young fo/a-maker was not ill-favoured. Both she and the
youth wore far more clothing than anylwdy we had met during our
stroll. She was clad in white. Her feet and nnkk-s were barr, and
very pretty ones they were — so one

pertinence to tell her, by way of beginnings conversation. Bn
course she did not understand him. The colour of her skin may be
described as cafc-au-lait trtuirt; her eyes were brown, in sockets long
and narrow ; her nose was flattish, her cheek-bones were high, and
her lips were thin. In her sleek black hair, cut short at her neck, she
had fastened a scarlet hibiscus llower. I n her left ear, by way of earring,
she wore a gardenia blossom, pale, waxy, and odorous. We poiri
to this floral ornament with admiration, and the threw us the sprig,
from which she had plucked it, to smell. Wc tried to complhnem
her in broken Fijian (very broken indeed) on her bai but she

was puzzled, and looked up at the youth for an explanation. \
youth was better looking than she was. The hue c>: bu 'kin was the
same, but there was more expression in his eyes . the contour of
visage was less angular ; he smiled when he spoke— which she
peared incapable of doing— and displayed a row of sound white teeth.
Hi wore a white shirt, and nether garments of blue cloth, tescml
knickcrhorkers, reaching to the knee His head »>
were his legs and feet. He had a g of English, jrul

gathered from wlvat he said that he was an oflii a >n Muafu's house*

■ .de. " Me soldier I " he exclaim.
to the centre of his ch I

We looked dr hed at this information .;c«-

•d, evidently pleas , " tnc bu

—and he pretended to present and fire a musket, taking my right ■
asatarg. .stood-- i , and then at ease. ■

headstnekon • other.

an exhibition of dnll, it was open to criticism ; but at a fanctftil

A Day at Loma Loma. 309

imitation thereof, it was perfect in its way. There was ■ naivtt/
of conceit, too, in the whole performance quite refreshing to witness.
We all laughed heartily, and the cause of our mirth joined in it
readily, but the fa/v-maker never relaxed a muscle of her face.
She laid her hammer down at moments, either to tuck back a
stray tress which had fallen over her eye*, or to take a bite
at a piece of cocoanut which she kept beside her, or else to dip
her fingers in a mug of water, and sprinkle the scam on which she
was engaged.

When silence had been restored, she renewed her conversation
with the sole it can they have been saying? He seemed

amused, but she continued sober as a judge. They were pro-
bably discussing us. However, we broke in on their colloquy with
the request for a pineapple. The youth went and fetched one,
and also produced a knife which he polished on his leg. This
last attention he might, I thought, have omitted. Wc all got a
good big slice, and the girl, while eating hers, condescended to
ask, through the youth acting as interpreter, whether we came from
ance (Britain). On learning that we did, she further inquired
whetlur Viti (Fiji) in general, and Varna Balavu in particular,
were to be added to -sessions of the Queen of Pritanee.

We stated, in reply, that such a change in the future of entire Yiti
was ii

She received the hout flinching, and finished her pine-

apple. It was doubtless a matter of perfect indifference to her how,
or by whom, she was to be ruled, if only she were left to cat, drink,
and sleep unmolested.

! of my friends recollected then that he had a photograph in
his pocket which might interest our new acquaintance*. It WB the
likeness of no relative dm even friend of his own, )>ut a portrait

which he had espied in a shop window in London, and straightway
purchased, since he conceived that it approached his beau idial of
female loveliness. The original appeared a comely person, a bit
brazen, perhaps, and was arrayed with extravagance. A bunch of
fluffy hair, clipped to a level with her eyebrows, descended over her
forehead. Above this rose a tower of plaits, crowned by a cap.
Enormous earrings dangled by either check. Around her neck
a rutl -like CO d chain, with a locket, resembling a

■nail gong, attached; also rows upon rows of onyx beads. A
buttons, bugles, Rnd bows completed her list of
decorations.

VOL. CCXLV. NO. I78S. B B

370

Tkt Gmtlemaiis Magazine.

It was indeed a most striking picture, and one calculated I
the savage mind with amaxe.

The youth pressed forward to examine it, and holding i
him at inns length, remained gazing at it for five minutes in i
The girl demanded to have it shown her too ; but growing impatient,
she rose to her feet, and peeped at it over hix shoulder. Ho '*r
spection did not last long. She inquired if this were a countrywmxa
of ours. We bowed assent. I would have subjoined, if I cocM.
that all the Pritanec women were not cut on the ]>altcrn under soda.
But it was all the same. She went back quietly to her tap* «iih
perfect seriousness, resumed her hammer, struck three stroke! *4k
it, then put it down, then struck three more strokes, and then— fnt
vent to an explosion of laughter I

It was plain that she had had difficulty in taking in the detatbef
this picture : its meaning had dawned on her understanding by »lw
degrees. At length she had perceived all clearly. And \ t-t (listen,
ye daughters of Albion, and be astonished !) — yet, I say, it waiM
seem that this " thing of beauty " excited not her admiration, t«
her derision.

What a noise she made ! Men, women, and children
running from out of the bufT-colourcd houses and sbc;
what was the matter. They wanted to have a look at the
as well. Bat my friend, rather nettled at the effect it had
replaced it in his pocket, and motioned them off

We spent some time in examining Maafu's double canoe, t
feet in length, which wa» drawn up on the beach ready for its <
use. Hut its owner's ideas of locomotion by water have long I
gone beyond canoes. More recent additions to his navy
included a neat little yacht and a steam-launch. Fijian canotsJ
marvels of skilful carpentering, when one considers the rudena*'
the tools which their builders were formerly obliged to use.
knives, and nails were, not so long ago, unknown to thcot
metal was to be seen in their constructions. Where we, with I
and nails, should have joined plank to plank, they, with
labour, infinite pains, bored holes, v. iih instruments made of s
bone, in each plank, and tied them firmly togetl nnct.

nicely arc the different pieces measured, that il .ireful a

spection to find where the joinings are. A double canoe, it of
ly be necessary to explain, consists of two single ones )«"*
Kethcr at the waist, like the late lamented Siamese twins. T*"
joining, in the case of the canoes, is effected by strong beams, otd

A Day at Loma Loma.

3/i

a deck is superadded. A broad wooden frame, or outrigger,
stretching far on one side, gives balance to the whole when under
sail. There is but one mast, and this can be fixed at one or other
end of the deck at pleasure. Perhaps the most remarkable thing in
the whole affair is the large triangular sail of matting, extended to
the winds by a yard of prodigious length. These canoes arc awk-

things to travel in. If not properly managed, a puff of wind
will capsixe them ; if the sail has to be lowered, mast and all must
come down ; if the course has to be changed, the mast has to be
lugged out of the front hole and i. BtO the bade one. While

at sea, so much water is shipped inevitably that two men are kept
baling assiduously fore and aft, to avoid being swamped. Under
these conditions all must be well in fair weathn ; bill should i hur-
ricane sweep down, the peril is great. It i o common ;m

occurrence for canoes to be wrecked, tad all bonds drowned, that
the tale of su< h ■ neither surprise nor ruth in the

Fijian breast.

I thought I liad never seen SO brave a sight as on one bri
evening when we lay off Levuka, Rounding B rar*projecdng pro-
montory, there suddenly burst on our view two double canoes in full
career, moving, mayhap, at a speed of ten miles an hour. The
slanting sunlight struck RiU on bellying sail and streaming pain. uit
In fact, as they bore down on us, they seemed all sail : no canoes
were visible. Smoothly and swiftly they sped over the calm DO on
of the sea, growing on the sight with magical rapidity. Their nearer
approach somewhat disenchanted us. They swerved up out of the
wind ; ; t shrank 3nd were lowered ; the ugliness of their out-

riggers was apparent. They were no fairy galleys then. If they
really bore "youth on the prow and pleasure at the helm " it was a
black youth and a chattering pleasure, with which wc felt but faint
sympathy.

Thakombau's father, Tanao, had a remarkably splendid single
canoe, decorated with innuroerah' wlm 1>, some forty years

ago, excited the admiration, I find, of the American Captain Wilkes.
As such vessels, in those days, took about three years to bui

• Id Snuff," as he was irreverently named by the white residents in
his dominions, must have had to exercise some pati< D tching

its completion. It is quite possible that his subjects were lew eager
in the matter, considering his way of celebrating
Whenever he launched a new canoe ten or more men were slaugh-
tered on the deck, in order that it might be washed with human
blood. liut this was not all. The only fit mode of marking the

n S3

3/2

Tlu GentUmaris Magazine.

occasion was by a cannibal feast. Ill-advised indeed were those '
stirred abroad that day, for the very first person encountered
the launch, was seized, forced struggling into an oven, roosted, snd
then served up as a banquet for "Old Snuff" and his shipbuflden.
Once in possession of hi* new plaything, Tanoa used to dirert
himself by going out sailing in it, and running down iil tie
canoes he met during the cruise, leaving those upset to rtcorer
their property as best they might. This afforded him much amuse-
ment. The powi&ility of the people thus suddenly immersed basj
drowned or devoured by sharks doubtless lent a peculiar piquucf
to the sport.

Maafu had been so busy during the early part of the
that we had not wished to intrude on him ; but seeing him now \
alone on a chair drawn halfway across his threshold, we ventured I
approach. His house is simply a long cottage with a narrow i
flanked on the left by two small windows, on the right by one. The
high sloping roof is thickly thatched with reeds. The ddrf
was lolling backward .-.. Even chiefs can loll sometimes. Onekf
was crossed over the other ; his arms hung idle ; his head bad sosk
on his breast. He was snoozing, possibly; or rather let us suppose
that he was pondering on affairs of much moment to himself,
inasmuch as this was an anxious time for him. Changes which
affected him deeply were in progress— changes which, beo|
powerless to control, he was wise enough to endure with seenwij
patience.

He raised his head on hearing our footsteps, and adjusting ho
dress with due attention to chiefly decorum, rose to his feet, ml
retreated indoors, pulling his chair after him. We followed imme-
diately, and on entering found him squatting on the ground
tailor at work, and quite ready to receive us. He shook hands with
us in turn, more Brilannieo, and then showed by a gesture UuS I
wished us seated. Chairs being at hand, we each sat down on <
though I fancy now that we should have done well had we I
on the ground too. Had we l>cen better acquainted ».
etiquette we should have known th.it for guests to stand or I
while their host iqui ivil A host, out'

deference i itors (welcome ones, of course), places himself

as low a level as he can, short of crawling on his stomach. The>
indicates that he docs not suspect them of ill intentions Id
himself, and that he desires to converse with them in a fheadjT
manner. It is incorrect, therefore, for those thus graciously recB«d
to plant themselves at a higher level. But all this has to be ks*

A Day at Loma Loma.

373

by experience. As yet no Fijian guide to the drawing-room has
been published Moreover, Maafu is, people assert, such a thorough
man of the world, i: prepared to make the fullest allowance

for the boorishncss of his white gin

Maafu is certainly a man of stately presence, with an inimitable

dignity of carriage and gait, though in this respect he does not excel

Thakombau. He is now about fifty-eight years old, and stands over

six feet high. His body is mUfCUhl and well proportioned, tad DO

\\ twenty stone. His oleaginous skin [s in colour a

light ; The ihapelben of his small roaod bead i^ the better

shown by his thick hair, now slightly grir/led, being shorn close.
null and : l smooth. It is

WOtlk) be impossible, to guess his thoughts by i
■-age as a guide. 1 read thereon an indifference slightly con-
temptuous, and nothing more. Singularly arched eyebrows, and
eyelids drooping heavily may cause this, together with the fact that
the corners of his mouth turn downwards. But the countenance of
a Fijian chief is but a mask after all. He thinks it diief-like to
ie a stolid air. Once his ire is aroused, the mask Jail.-., ami his
true sentiments come uppermost; but at other times you have a fine
f>eld for speculation in wondering what hit inner feelings may really
be,

The room in which we were was lofty and cooL The cross-
beams overhead were covered with sinnct braided in pretty patterns.
The floor was carpeted with matting scrupulously clean, while the
particular mat on which our host squatted WtJ ornamented at the
edges with beads and a broad fringe. British genius n u .'i eralble
m the furniture, which was of the sort that you see at any cheap
mart in a town at home. There was a curtained bed, a table
covered with a red cloth, a chest of drawers, a harmonium (on which
I afterwards heard its owner producing anything but a " concord of
;, and sundry chairs with straight backs. I observed
four very common clocks, each recording a different hour, dispersed
about the room. On the walls were coloured prints in «W
frames, such as one often sees above a pea*.int's chimney-piece,
very startling, very staring, representing generals loaded with orders
galloping across lurid battle fields— pictures in which the scarlet of
the riders' coats has melted and merged into their own cheeks, the
tails of their horses, and the background of blood and thunder
acrots which they fly.

Our conversation with Maafu was not interesting. The one of us
who undertook to be spokesman, started with tne aW-aXwotViMv^

374

The Gentleman's Magazine.

though to our host the distasteful, topic of annexation. But a mono-
syllabic reply 01 two was .ill he got back. Inquiries were nnt made
after the chief's eldest son, Charles by name; but Charles, like many
other eldest sons, had chosen to be a rake, and had incurred the
paternal wrath in consequence, A protracted course of muconduct
Ii.mI ended, some time before our visit, by hit being banished totke
neighbouring island of Lakembu, where, wo heard it asserted :
wards, he amused himself far better than at borne. Hit most]
nounced wcaktu || i | said to be for gin. At the mention of j
hopeful's name, MaahYs expression became a little stonier, »l
more inscrutable, than it had been before. Happily the aniwl i
fresh visitors put an end to an interview about which there** I
certain awkwardness from first to last.

On leaving the chiefs presence we passed through a bock door,
down some steps, on to a green lawn which stretched broad, opas
and level, for some two hundred yards behind his house, and !
broke into glades which, winding amid single trees, lost themato
in a thicker forest screen. The soil was sandy, and the pas ;
close and fine, as it does on sandy soil. Here, too, the in
sound of /iiy*£i-making reached us, but faintly, a* from a
Corning upon some of Maafu's retainers who were occupied in |
paring the celebrated beverage iava, we stopped to watch the i
tion. Six men WB in a circle, in the centre of

wooden bowl. Some of the pepper-plant root, which at a du
looked like a withered twig, lay beside them. From this tbtyoM
small pieces, which, having pared, they put in their mouths and
chewed. Each man reduced his mouthful to pulp by vigorous a*
tication, and tlun spat it in the howl. These contributions repealed
often, produced a goodly mass of crunched matter, to wk&s *
measure of water was added. The whole was then strained thw<fc
cocoanut fibre, the liquid which resulted resembling weak to •"■
milk in it, in appearance. This is kava, the nectar of South $•
islanders. To me the notion of tasting this stuff wa» dipaWI
beyond expression ; but, the same evening, when Maafu, after lorsf
off a cup of it, pressed us to do the same, I felt it would be uncof
teous to refuse. I actually managed to swallow some drofs of *
and found it quite as nauseous as I had expected. The taste of*"
is said to be the same as that of magnesia and soapsuds, i
mixed.

We were now weary of wandering. We sat down beneath i
and while my friends essayed to doze, I mused. There wM «
languor in the atmosphere ttait invited to repose and rncdkuk*

i Ml

Mcotw
rathitrtf-

A Day at Loma Lonia.

375

the day waned, the air became very close. The light breeze,
►lu'ch had prevailed before, died away completely. The western
horizon was flooded with orange and gold, and the crimson sun wA
swiftly. Over the shore a brief and brilliant transformation was
passing. The dense tropical . vibrr.uit, was

steeped in soft yellowish vapour. Not a spray stirred. The sea

ii-di w.is attest.

The foci my irince of eventide

ng Rtdtlag '•'«•' lbs to
On leaf and bloom there »tole apace

That rated, ihone, and fled away —
The lost tmile of the dying day.

The day had indeed faded ; golden gleams had fast yielded to purple
dusk. Darknc- eending.

iat a mora mike, or native dance, should be
be lawn at the back of his house that night There
no moon. The darkness was intense. The sound of a drum
imoncd people from far and near, and shadowy figures emerging
the wood, through which lights twinkled like fireflies here and
:, trooped noiselessly on to the lawn. Flaming banana brandies
ield aloft instead of torches, and i swell of cocoanut oil set
■. ealing to us a crowd of mustering natives,
performers now proceed to pttl themselves in position. In
the centre is. a group of men, to whose vocal accompaniment the
dancers are to keep time. Around these the dancers, who are all
men, form a ring. Tlwy have decked themselves for the occasion in
tutus • r girdles of stained grasses and glistening li

Most of them have painted their faces with cross-bars of red and
and anoi nsclvcs freely with cocoanut oil. Some

fuse daubed their heads with lime ; some weal a prodigious mop of
t hair, curled, crisped, extended. There arc among them tall
and short, crooked and straight, old and young. The chant begins,
and begins well, with a fine major harmony, as might some solemn
hymn. The bass voice (it is difficnll in this light to distinguish tin-
owner) is particularly rich, the others are quite in tune, and the car,
i-asantly saluted, awaits something belter. Hut nothing better
come» 'ices sweep upwards in u nd dwindle away in

in the minor b iat bray— far coarser than any

donkey's — which follows from the throat of the bsjBj indicates a
depth of despondency hardly fitted, 1 should liavc thought, to inspire

-Hull

from
there

376

The Gentleman's Magazine.

the votaries of the Fijian Terpsichore. To this succeeds a sqneai
— no pigling hung by its tail could have sent out a shriller. A I
lugubrious response of Gregorian severity is returned by the I
and the measure commences.

Sec ! the dancers arc bending down and springing tip i§bb,
stamping, and clapping their hands in time. Working away tim,
shoulder to shoulder, they have all the appearance of moving gra-
dually from right to left. But to ascertain whether they do or oot,
I leave my place by Maafu's side, and descending into the iron,
plant myself behind one of them. In this way I observe his conMC-
lions, but cannot sec that he budges an inch from his own ground;
nor, in fact, docs he. The singeis stop their chant and retie* it at
intervals ; but on their all clapping their hands simultaneously, oV
dancing ceases.

Then come loud cries of maii, malt! from the audience-
words which have the same mraninj; U tiuore when tittered in
case with us. Nevertheless, a brief interval follows, during wbil
the magic circle is broken, and the general herd mingles with
performers. The demand for an ttuore is then complied with ;
when the ring has been rc-formed, I find myself, to my surpris
I may add, my annoyance — in its very centre, among the ho*l«*;
and here I am constrained to wait imprisoned, with care tortured by
discords.

The dance this time is fiercer than before. The dancers |W
excited : they sway their bodies from side to side, as though in throe*
from some grievous inward ache. They stoop forward till their tig**
ears touch the ground, as if listening for an expected wartrawf'i
then up they all bob again with a screech, and make believe lo ho*
javelins or il.irt SHOWS at phantom foes. What yelling, captfwj
demons ! They laugh and jabber, their skins arc streaming *•"
sweat and cocoanut oil. And thus they continue till the cu»K<nJiy
signal permits them to cease, panting and exhausted, from &*
labours. I effect my escape from amongst them with all speed, t*
they can recommence their gambols, for the merciless on-looW*
unsatisfied, are again calling out m,u'i, mali.

Maafu looks on apathetically at the scene, and keeps lookng*
till the entertainment ends.

Then lights die out, torches are extinguished, flaming oJ •
quenched, and the demons disperse as noiselessly as they appciftd,
while we, still rather bewildered, find our way back lo the bcs»
awaiting us at the jetty.

A Day at Loma Loma, 377

w, how soothing is the hush of night 1 The calm heaven
with lustrous stars; the water through which we shoot
sically by prow and keel, as we are rowed with firm and
: back to our ship and our rest

G. DE ROBECK.

37S

The Gentleman s Magazine.

HORACE, ODES. I. 15.

HEN the false shepherd in Ida-built pinnace
Helen, his hostess, was dragging o'er seas ;
Ncrcus stilled, swift but recusant the bree«,
To chant a fierce menace.

" Home as thou leadest her, fatal the omen !

II, r whom tli'- warriors of Greece shall rcscck.
Sworn to break in on thy nuptials, and break
The realm of the foemen.

"Sweat on the horses, the men, ah, the clangour !
Thou dost the race of the Dardans o'crwh;
Pallas make; ready her leg) im,

Her r.ir and her anger.

" Vainly thou boastcst that Venus upholds tlicc,
Combing thy love-locks, and tuning a lute
Woman-like, mdea . still, still the pursuit
Though bride-bed enfolds thec 1

•' Spears and the darts which the Gnossians fling ! yet
Din of the battle, and Ajax the iwifl
Follow; and soon in the war dust will drift
Thine amorous ringlet.

" Follows the son of Laertes, and sic now '
i oc i" tin ii' e, IbUows Nestot the i
I ecu r ■ ■!' Saltmis, Sthenelus bold
In the fight ; should there be now

" Need that the steeds should be driven so fcatly,
Well can he guide; follows Merion liarri.
With lyili u>' great son, who in battle's award
Is the better: how fleetly

" Thou, as the stag that sees wolf in the valleys,
Careless of pasture, with labouring breath,
Flicst, a craven, the pursuant death ;
But feebly this tallies,

" This, with thy vow to thy leman : the ire
Swift from the fleet of Achilla will come ;
Troy and her matrons, enwrapped in her doom,

Shall sink in the lire."

TABLE TALK.

I ? umstances tend men to a t hose who wish to see

tlie true principles of science spread abroad, considering the value
■cif I of culture t0 1 I even the intrinsic value

itific discoveries, than thi soa with which vulgar errors

cn<>Urc, despite all the care with which the teachers of science have
*">owri their baselessness. It is amazing how many who ought to
^fiow better have been alarmed by the report that " the perihelia
four giant planets would l>e togethec between «88o and 1885,"
^txl that as a consequence a most terrible disasters would

•ppen to the human race. Combining this utterly preposterous
Jtsiement (fur the statement 1 > as preposterous as the de-

duced < ■ 1 with the absurd doctrine of the Astronomer Royal

for Scotland that the interior passages of the Great Pyramid indicate
prophetically (by certain proportions of length and peculiarities of
position) the end of the world b 1 88z, and with Mother Shipton's
equally trustworthy predicts

. ..iu KorM ball coom

la eighteen hundred ind cightyonc.

many foolish folk infer that there must be something in these coinci-
dent predictions, and that (to put the matter practically) a dan
per annum during the next three or four years would be better worth
having than an annuity of five hundred per annum, where the mere
prospect of life (judged ajart from revelations, whether in book or
stone) amounts, say, tu twenty or thirty years. It is worth while to
point out that Mother Shipton, assuming for a moment that she ever
existed, most certainly never made the prophecy attributed to her,
the date il been altered many times within the last

century ; that the pyramid prophecy is one of the wildest theories
ever advanced by man ; and that the planetary troubles must
have been concocted by some one as ignorant as dishonest. The
four planets in question have not coincided for the
last ten millions ol incide for the hundred

m of years next to come. If they did coincide, no harm would

38o

The Gentleman's Magazine.

come or could come of the coincidence. Between 1880 and iSSj,
deed, as every astronomer has known for the last quarter of a
the four giant planets will be, each in its turn, in perihelion Bat
four terrestrial planets — Mereury, Venus, the Earth, and Mars— ore
in perihelion, some of them more than once (Mercury, for
seven times) every 690 days, and no harm comes of it to the earth,
these four inner or terrestrial planets disturb the sun — it is in this
the mischief is to be brought about, according to the preposterous
dictions in question— much more than the four outer, though they
the four giant planets, can possibly do, always assuming (which
any astronomer now believes) that the planets disturb the sun all
in the sense of affecting the processes on which the formation of
spots depends. The influence of a planet in this way, if it exi:
all, although it cannot be measured absolutely, can be most e
compared with the influence of any other planet When the
son is made, we find tli.it Mercury and Venus together have more
turbing power than Jupiter, the Earth much more disturbing
th;m Saturn and Uranus together, Mars more disturbing power
Neptune. Hut, to say the truth, it becomes more and more donl
whether the planets have anything whatever to do with the
spots ; it is still more unlikely that the variations of planetary
tance can seriously affect the sun's condition ; and lastly, the
ence between the Earth's condition when there are most spots
when there are fewest, may be just discoverable (most
now deny even that), but assuredly it is not such as to suggest
under any conceivable conditions the inhabitants of Earth need
ccrn themselves about the solar maculations, and still less that
Earth would be ruined even though the perihelia of all the
great and small, were coincident

AMONG the subjects discussed in George Eliot'sncw volume "
phrastus Such" is the question of the extent of hui
Is there not as much cause to say that vanity is the root of all I
action as to say that selfishness is? Few things strike one more I
as increasing years bring sharper powers of observation, than the 1
anxiety of men to be in some sense observed of their fellows. That I
thousands who would rather be ridiculous or criminal than hop
Our very sympathies seem to be influenced by this pitiable'
and we listen to 3 friend's story with a sort of implied proviso 1
shall hear us in turn. In one of Mussel's sparkling prevtrhts ho I
s»ys : " Nous causerons sans nous ccouter ; e'esi Ie meilleur moytai
s'entendre." It would seem to anyone listening to what b called 1

Table Talk.

38i

general conversation, that these views are universally entertained,
since the majority of men listen the least they can and arc continu-
al to take the words out of another's mouth. It is

ng to watch the absolute cunning a man will — unconsciously,
as I believe— betray in his efforts to get an audience. Having once
got it, he will, if he is superlatively greedy, be at no less pains to

the beginning of a new 6l on to the end of the last

so as not to lose his advantage. I have no new illustration of this
to offer, neither has George Eliot, since all phases of this rei
egoism must be familiar to any observer. It is, however, worth
while to notice that the possession even of a great sorrow is resented
by some minds, and that after a man has once expressed, sincerely
enough, I dare say, nil companion, he commences the process of
dethroning you from a sort of imaginary pedestal, and hunts up cases
of a similar loss, though lew for the purpose of proving that you
are the victim of a C ilamtty than lor that of preventing you

from arrogating any special importance. Weakness of this kind is a
matter to pity rather than to condemn, and il '-lie more readily par-
doned as the censor finds generally a corresponding infirmity in his
own bosom. Still, it is difficult to avoid echoing with a sigh the
laureate's line :

I" However we brare it out, we men are a Utile breed."
Tl 1 1 N' K the following story is new; I am assured it is true. A
! of mine, travelling afoot with a companion through the
n lanes of the Midland Counties, came unexpectedly upon a
country racecourse, and found in one portion of the ground a thimble-
rig establishment in full work. In spite of remonstrances, his
companion, a thorough madcap, whom I will call A, insisted on
observing the game. "Would the gent like to bet a crown he could
find the little pea ?" said the expert Agreed," was the answer. The
money on both sides was deposited, and A, lifting up the thimble,
the required pea and took the stakes. A second bet,
"double 01 nded, to the olfl ious surprise of the officiator at

the board, in the same result. A third bet, ";i pound or nothing,"
steadied the nerves of the loser, and the trii k w 1 I hod ■■■■ ■.&.

great 1 0, Agai: . up a thimble and showed

the pea, taking at the same time the stake. " S* help me," etc., said
artist, " I didn't put it there." " No," said the
, retreating with the spoil of w.ir, ys (any my ou-i.

I am not answerable for the, morality of this story, but I think it
amusing enough to be worth preserving.

382 The Gentleman's Magazine.

" T)EACE has her victories not lc$s renowned than war," says

JL Milton, in lines with which every reader is now fan
The exploits of engineering are now the most renowned of these
triumphs. It seems likely th:tt A: c of the most

extraordinary natural phenomena, will witness tl
engineering feats. As completely as the canal through the Isthmus
of Panama will, when accomplished, eclipse that through the Isthmus
of Suez, will the railway through the .' lipte European feats

among the Alps. A railway across the Andes is nearly completed—
the tunnel which pierces the summit of a mounts: ^rapli-

mentanly than euphoniously called Mount Mciggs, doing so at an
altitude of 15,583 feet above the level of the sea, or aoo feet
lower than the summit of Mont Blanc. It used to be thought, and
ia still held in some quarters, that the beat barrier between Stal
a range of impassable mountains. I I ; in the influence of

contact, and fancy that when the Himalayas are tunnelled like the
Alps (I ipexk robjeot to correction, since the task may be impossible)
we shall strengthen our Indian empire instead of weaken 1.
When once we get face 10 face with Russia there is a cliance that wc
in*y understand one another. It is only while we . mat of

men thai we assume them to be of a nature «
and much worse than, our own.

THE story of" Keep on thi icntioncd in the Antiqwiryip

true story, be it remembered), and the stories based 00 it, u
PraHorium episode in the •/•'. and the " Hill Sun 1 .ark,"

story in PtdtxmA, may be matched by some of
kind. For instance, there U the wonderful case of Dr. T.;
Young, who discovered a wt.' uis in a collection sent

him by Sir C V. ('•rev, which turn nn of

a hieroglyphic inscription which he and CI 1 partially

deciphered only a few hours before. cd.it

was a most extraordinary chance which had thus brought in'
possession a document not likely, in the ■ ever

existed, still less to b. preserved fbi Itis infomuuioo throu
two thousand y ordinary tranaation

i have been br 1 me,*

he adds, '• at the very moment « 1

me to possu ition ui an 01 ibts

studying, but withou cr rcasoi :idim

it — this combination wouli
affording ample evidence of my having become an Egyptian tun

Table. Talk.

383

Professor Skeat recently instanced a case almost as striking — in fact, in
one respect even more remarkable. The stone pillar at Ruthwell, near
Gretna-grccn, had long interested antiquarians on account of the Rum.
inscriptions on its n ;nd southern sides, which they had vainly

attempted to decipher as Pktish 01 Danish. In 1840 Mr. J. M.
Kimble of Trinity College ed that the inscriptions are in

the Old English language, and transcribed and explained the whole.
, years afterwards his attention was drawn to a poem which had
been printed from an Anglo-Saxon MS. found at Verc.elli, in the
Milanese district ; and he found, to his surprise and delight, that this
poem — The Dream of the Holy Rood — contained the very passage
which he had deciphered. The 1 1 was absolutely tri-

umphant. Only three letters in his transcription required altering.
"A lesson truly," as Professor Skeat remarked, " as to the value
of patience and careful ;

"pROFESSOR SK.EA I' also mentioned sonic derivations, or rather
X. analogies, as remarkable,;:' Qfl logy between the

Greek "anax," a king or chief, and our 1 r," or between the

words " prize "and " hand." We have, by the way, been often struck by
the circumstance that the connection between such words as " prize "
and " land " should not, long since, have suggested that the study of
Teutonic tongues il le fur the illustration of Latin, Greek,

and Sanskrit, as the study of theee for the illustration "f the Teutonic
tongues. Professor Skeat remarks that this has only recently been
taken into account, whereas the study of Sanskrit, I 1 and Latin,
for assistance in the investigation of modern languages, has been in
progress for many ye. * To return, hi |ect One

. hardly suppose that there could be any association between
. "Billiter" (preserved in Uillitcr Lane, Lonxj
•■chyle," and "geyser." Yet the association is simple
enough when explained, 1 gnise the reality of the

connection between "priie" and "hand" when we note the

/>-., prendre, /■>., prehendo, Lai., henden, 'fait.,

. and the possibility of the connection between " Sir " and

low the series, Sir, sire, /•>., seigneur, />., senior,

/^/,Mi.i\, Lai., nd anax (the l t step being die doubtful one,

becau' i 'n Latin "s " is often found as thi

h in Greek begin with an aspirated vowel, we
nut so readily accept the syllable tt ui sencx as corresponding
to the ur.aspirated " a " of anax). There is a root gftu,
We find that in Greek the sound gk is represented by ch (h

384

The Gentleman t Magazine.

sotting by these letters the consonant sound of the Greek *).
In I Jtin gk b represented by " (," which seems j till wc

remember how in our words "enough,* "rough rnic

relation is indicated. In Icelandic gk becomes simply g. In Gothic
and Anglo-Saxon we find for it both g and y. Thus our root gk*
appears in Greek in the words "chuein " and "thecin," to pour,
and the derivatives chyle and chyme. In I-atin it appear.
the root syllable "fu," seen in fudi, past tense of fundere to poor,
and thence in English in such words as fusion, futf, futile, foundry,
founder, and fountain (the three last coming to us the

French). In Icelandic we have thegvs, to pour, represented in English
by the Scandinavian word "gush." A gey ply a "gl-

and is equivalent to "fountain." n Gothic wc have "gut,"

to pour, in Anglo-Saxon gedtan (doubtless the latins obtained giii/.i,
a drop, gultur, the throat, gusto, to sip, in the «rac way; whenre the
French goutte, go&ttr, gout, the English gout, a drop — as in Shake-
speare, " gouts of blood," and gout the disease, attributed of okl I
drop of morbid humour in the part affected). From gedtan a
the middle English yeteii to pour. A bell-founder was ■ :cr.

And lastly, Billiter-lanc is Bcllc-yctcr's Lane. Nothing is left of the
original root but the short vowel " i," identical with the
"yeten." Students of language may rejoice that the phonetic prin-
ciple was not thought of and forcibly introduced a thousand year*
ago; for if it had been, an enormous mass of evidence (trustworthy
when properly sifted) would have been lost. Pronunciation changed
and continues to change, but modem philology would have suffered
grievously if written language had been deall with by " such fanatical
phantasms, such insociable and point-devisc companions'* as the
phonctists, " such rackers of orthography." Holoferncs had only to
complain of the racker of Orthography in gpe 1 says "c!i

fine, when he should say doubt; dct, when he should ttrono-.n
debt,— d c b t, not dct; he clepeth a calf, cauf; haN
neighbour tvea/ur nebour; neigh abbreviated ne." If he lud lived
to see the FnuHA A'us, he would have had better cause to lay,
"This is abhominable (which he would call al
sinuateth me of insanic, ne .• :el to make fra<i

luru;

SVLVANt'ft UK.

THE

GENTLEMAN'S M AG AZ1 N E.

October 1879.

UNDER WHICH LORD?

■V E. I.YNN IINTOX.

KXVIII.
axi

A I >Y is coming to stay with mc for a few weeks. I am
'he station to meet her."
Hcrmionc mai 11 mouncement with u attempt at ease that

ably a failure, her eyes looking just about her huabt
scarf-pin, and her voice husky for all its artificial carelessness.

Richard looked at her with sur it mu the meaning Of

this announcement ? Why was the coming of this stranger so sud-
denly sprung on h :

" Who is she ? Where have you met her?" he asked.

Mrs. Everett and I have not seen her yet," was the
answer.

" Her name tells nothing. Who and what is this Mrs. Everett?
—a.-, coining here?" he returned

ad of die vicar's, and wants to come u ilme

to see the work," iaid Hermione. " As she could not go to the
Vicarage now, unfortunately ! "—sighing — " I offered to take her in
here1" — with a characteristic little fib 10 ttve Superior and .ippc.u.u-i ■■:,
"I hope she will approve of the work and like her quarters," said
Richard, a slight touch of sarcasm in Ml voi

Too do not object to her coming, do you?" she asked, tempi

She was one of those women who arc not satisfied with hi
their own way, but demand also that others should appn>.
{Utesce.

:86

:(lctttaris Afaga.

" That has nothing to d;

. has. I should be very sorry to &
ll.niiionc impulsiv

"I fear you went beyond your rcc . hi* grave re-

joinder. " Unhappily, sorrow for my disj I ong ceased

to be a restraining inff' i you, rlerml

Tears of genuine feeling came to her eyes.
" Vou misjudge me cruelly," she said ; and at tl < il she

honestly believed in her own words.

'• No, I ;im not u . ■ i only on my p

I do not care to fall into auo

ltd | ifirhaps ) ou arc more mistaken now than you were bef •
said Hermione, holding out her hand and looking up at him with
sutl> teas.

He took her hand and held it without speaking. What indeed

. >u M be I -iy ? He knew that all this was only a passing mood, not

of feeling ; and that to-day in one form, to-morrow

Dirtd be in another, according as the influence of Mr. I.asccll*«

or her own natural instinct had the upper hand. These passing

changes, were not to be nu
;o draw a little closer to him which she had
-i's departure was as fallacious as the rest. It
DO real reconciliation that was offered. There «U I
for ill •; -to renounce I '■ Mr. I-iseelles and return

her wifehood in tin past— that

love ••■ ide obedience unity. Failm bet halM;

efforts at a {partial peace were in vain. They were due rather u>
weariness of herself than to ng of love f< I

Ik thought with the straightforward courage of a man who pre*
pain to self-deception — because she was lonely, not becauvc >hc wa»
repentant.

"Of course," H went on to say, womanlike, (riviti*

reasons that should exonerate her when she had
— "< lonely foi

Iftt"

v whose :.

uman can own

and was now forced tQ association of a strari i

her d<

1 dare aay wi
I ing rapid . bee was in

iui and uncumfon.

Under xuhick Lord? 387

very well, and says that she is charming ; and beautiful as well. That
il pleasant for you, Richard I" she added, attempting a
playfulness that tailed as much as her composure had failed a short
time since.

,ouare sal ' lie said.

:-it you mutt be t insisted, sincere at the

raoro

"I have no part in Uu.- Em Uttd " It is idle to talk of

th your actions. Hermiune 1"
" li .J you are!7' she said, raising her big blue 1

: \ tO lii 111 . Hi' WOllld
rather have bei bo principles

.i was substantially coq
It jancd on every feeling

more than bei petulance and ill-U':. 1 ever

done.

•' Well !" said Hermioi ply ill-used, " 1

hope 1 'ill not dislike her, Rjchard, and t Ii;it she may make

than you haw :ite. "

•■ 'i mot possibly make me

he ss back my lost child nor my wife's

love

" It is very hard on me— you are vexed and irritated with

>ok of angry sorrow. "The
1 please ye !"

•■ I .mi never vexed norirriutcd n iermionc,"said RJi hard;

" 1 h ., learnt a new reading and the U do i pautfuL

5 not the 1 I thing before you to-day is

: ; and n is lime yo I Iting out "

. i roc] ! " < ricd Hci d to fling

if she had done so and been re-
He •• th a Imi
land left her to

had proni
with a cl(
handsome, got out of the train at Starton, set all the officials astir in

itteodam lokcd about her curiously. Shet

wotn-i «ed manner, but as gentle as she

was comi -oman who bi -."manhood as at once a

.ind who held hetself as a kind of

388

The Gentleman's Magazine.

creature whom the world was honoured in respecting. She had light,
almost flaxen hair without the faintest tinge of gold or red to redeem
it from insipidity; her eyes were a greenish haxel ; her skin was of c\
site colour and clearness; her nose was short, blunt and kid-like. Her
address was good ; as artificial in its own way as had been that of Sister
Agnes, but less sanctimonious. She was evidently a woman of die world
who had added religion as an extra ornament ; a Ritualist on the out-
side of her and a woman of the world all through. She was also one
who, while appearing to be frank, held all lier real self in absolute
reserve, and while »oft and supple and caressing in <1 a

will of iron and a gra>p of steel. The velvet glove was never mote
fully exemplified than with Mrs. Edith Everett ; and the current
verdict of those who knew i ixially was : "What a sweet

woman she is I "—but her children feared her, and her servants never
stayed beyond the conventional year.

Forewarned, she took Hcrmione from the first as on
compassionated, coerced, scourged, encouraged and praised all
one. Backsliding to the extent of making even the hollowest kind
of peace with her infidel husband was a sin of which the postit
was not to be contemplated ; and Mrs. Fullerton was to be
to feel that in Mr;. Edith Everett she had a jailor of godliness
would stand no paltering with evil, however craftily disgui
jugal affection or womanly tenderness. The renunciation which had
been ordained and carried out so far was not to be repented of;
and in the drive home Mrs. Everett touched without disguise on tbc
sorrow which so faithful a i

through the companionship of a godless and depraved husban
Mr. Fullerton. It was public property in the sect to which both
belonged, and there was no indelicacy in si f it — so at least

her manner seemed to say.

•• Superior has told me all al>out you, and explained how I
comfort you and be of use to you," she rangtn

>ne as joint allies
las t' Id me Of your heavy trial, and how m
" I do my best," answered Hcrmionc com
" V'es ; Superior says you arc grand ; and understand so
how impossible it is in your case to be both a good
and a fond wife I It is hard on you, poor lady; b snoot

serve I 'i<-- devil

•' My husband isgoc*;
Hermione, shrinking at the un<

rail

Under which Lord? 389

more kindly, and with whom she h.id been trying to establish a little
of closer relationshi]». It was painful enough sometimes to hear
poor Richard so harshly judged by Superior ; but by this stranger,
Supc rfect woman, it was unendurai

. Everett smiled. What a babe in the world of truth the
> creature was after all !

•• Why ! that is ju*t the heart of everything," »be '-'''l- " Whal El
anything without ri,;ht doctrine? Superior would tell you the same,

[one, like a catechixed child
M I tare often heard Supcrioi pr< that very subject," coo-

led Mrs. Everett ;.— '"The nothingness, ol natural virtue nod the
cesnty of right doctrine.' I do DOt think Superior holds
anything m< • iry to salvation than this belief. I*

vride door di 'Irs. Fullerton — the door whti h leads 10 eternal

<a ! is this your place?" suddenly changing her voice as
they dr igb the lodge gate pretty it is! What a

tag, as she added a little below her breath but
idibly, "with the serpent here ai ".. :i u |rj I .,!•:, | "
1 introduction to the serpent, which tool: place jtttt before
dinner, was rather awkward in more than one direction. Hcnnioac,
conscious that she had brought into his house an enemy to her
husband as declared as Mr. Lascelles himself, and sorry that she had
licen forced to do so, was neither natural nor at case. Mrs. Everett,
hful to her programme, was cold and scarcely courteous to this
tested son of i the roaster of the house himself,

catching the tone of the moment, on mere skeleton ofbospi-

•y— no more. When introduced to Mr. Fullerton, Mrs. Everett
made a cold bow, and, afflicted with sudden myopy, did not sec the
•ut in conventional welcome. When dinner was an-
nounced, she refused Richard's arm, saying with a smile as she took
Hcrmionc's hand: " You and I will go together, and then then will be
no distinction ; " and all through dinner she kept to the same rdlt.
She never let the talk Hag for a moment; but she spoke exclusively to
Hcrmionc, and when Richard put in his word, answered him only
wife. She never looked at him save when he was not
looking at her, and then by stealth as it were ; -< inning him with the
same kind of curiosity as she would have had in looking at some
mo: 01a him she turned her eyes slowly to Hcrmionc; and

then she changed from the curiosity of horror to pit) and teodenx
And Hcrmionc saw all th'u facial byplay, as it was intended she
should. Wbatevei kidurd said Edith Everett contradicted, and

390

The Gentleman 's Magazine,

peflrfsteaUy turned the tronvcrsalion on theolo^-

poke of themselves the Anglicans or i -as persecuted

ing ones of the earth "— who*c wicked-

':>■)■ must endai >n the

end. To lu-ir

thumb.-' n w :n.il the scavenger's daughter, wen
and tl n Richard

and the law. Their St truth VS :icr, a

service of peril I ;ladly ; while infidelity lad all

the go 'idde-

cniendottt
iv of the isabk

orielderoflhediaboUi

but her manner, taken by itself, was free from activt be wa»

lib- .i calm sup-

cd in this his frank

and unconditional condemnation made Hcnn II Richard,

■ challenges ilung one al other into his face, let all

l«ss withov or comment. lie was. did

it signify to him if . by railed at him?

care to argue as to the wood of < .tor est

the name of the forge where the nails which held him were made.
But the quiet i which hi Do be roused did not

to make Mrs. Everett more his friend, less his appointed aad
willing enemy.

For her own part, Hcrmione soon found :. lo to

. her agnostic husband when she and h

'Superior iwasroot'

and unjust ; but Mrs. Everett, looking at hct
penetrating eyes — e; neither flashed i i .other

droojtcd nor dilated, but that i they

1 and do i very soul — answered in her aoft and

er monotonoii

001 make excuses for hhx
!
" What docs Superior with a half

1 look.

«hould Call from grace and b

1 she were spcakin.

Under which Lara 391

nun. Von might as n-cll the calm

nder.

-. No one < nn these

I. I only say that he is not bad b," replied

nionc with the courage of irritation.
'■y poor soul ! not bad all through! " said M- Everett sweetly,
v can an infidel be anything bin : i rough? You

as well say tlut a man dying of cancer is not diseased all tin.
Mr. Fulkrton's infidelity is the cancer y port <>f him,

and you make yourself one with bl u even

apologixe * g,fan, >'ou lt l!i natural," she went on to say

with a generous concession to human weak; ■■.■■•■
regrettable anu ire that yi tor him, I con understand

your wanting i :!ic fairest light possible. Bat il

right There arc times when even the love of ■ wife for her husband
is unholy : and in your case, dear, yours is undoubtedly unholy, and
at all costs must be subdued. It is ■ terrible trial to you; but you
must 6utTcr and resist."

s was the tone taken by Mrs. Everett, under direction. She
assumed on the part of Hcrmionc an -ill devouring passion for her
husband which brought the blood into the ice for

shame, and made her afraid to show the smallest kindness to this
infidel wli urch had given her md BCormUBted to taki I

Whenevej she spoke to bin 1 clear hazel eyes

I on he steadily until she had i
made to I iioke to him when not

aliso.' jed He was the outcast, and she t i . gainst

ly when she recognised that he had human > I
rig were carefully curtailed
she went, Mrs. Everett » t side — wbatem she said ot did,

Mm. tor, witness and judge. Her life

gradually | y one, quietly,

■:ily— never oil. i

-thtssoft-fliuinercd
took into her 0* which

made

into
;. with Siijicriiir, l igB as

possji cangu.

egoal ; and
5 tly baa a

392

Tlie Gentleman's Magazine.

Yet for all this Hcrmionc was unhappy. Flattering ha
i, protecting her in appearance, coercing her in reality, Mn
Everett seemed somehow to stand between her and Superior i
■\u- one 1 1 . 1 1 1 < 1 . tad between her and her husband on the other ; I
husband with whom, now that she was prevented, she longed i
to make peace. She was too much her interpreter ; and Hermit)
would rather have beet) allowed to interpret for herself. She >
not like to hear her thoughts and feelings and desires explained I
Superior, and her soul made M it were into a set of
headings which Mrs. Everett wrote out and she had only to
But she was powerless. Mr. Lascclles had established a
"mousetrap," after the manner of the great spy; and HcrmiooM
not only watched and reported on, but was made to feci that
Everett was but another name for Superior, while Superior himself"
the consecrated interpreter of the Mind of God. Between the wot
soft, weak tool bid DOt the thinnest fibre of independence left be,!
was bent hither and thither just as they most desired. If that strong I
which held her with 10 firm a grasp was the Crutch for her weakne
it was also the band and buckle of restraint, the lash and the go
that coerced ; and nothing but the superstitious dread of
Superior, and, through him, Eternal Justice, kept her in the
moral thraldom from which one word to Richard would haw i
bee But that one word ! It was just that which she dared not I
For would it not have been calling on Satan to deliver her from I
. of God i
And all this while both Mr. Lascclles and Mrs. Everett despised I
weakness of which they made their account and to Hcrmionc
lied a* grace.

A clever woman with a keen sense of the ridiculous
strong love of power — also with very deal and decided view i
what she wanted out of life and meant tliat it should give
Everett found much in the state of things at Crossholme to
: mom tO condemn. The feminine worship paid in
revolted her for more reasons than one ; and she satirized it jo*
sparingly th:it Mr. LuceUe* himself became ashamed, and tboafk
(hit perhaps it was after all .i little in excess of his njM*
itual due. To those whose love for the man ran into to"
reverence for the priest she was as bitter as she was unscrupulos**
her denunciations ; and she did not even spare Theresa, dying *•
she was. Miss Pryor and all the humbler sisterhood who fed *
Superior's words and looks as the hungry Chosen fed on manns. •<*
never so sharply rallied as by this tall, smiling, blunt-nosed i

d w«u»

Under which Lord '

39.3

voice and the keen wit, who said the cruellest
tilings in the bl. I nner, and made them all cry in S6CTO sad

What her 01 ; were for this man who stood

AS the target fur so many feminine arrows no one could divine. Surely,
said some, she was too clever to in t be would many he —

a widow without bea tune -though the had all those social

qualities by which s wife gets her husband on in the world. Yet she
was evidently a power with him, ami had mon OVCX bin

nyonc else. She had the oddest way possible of laying down
the law oo matters; when she would look over to Mr. fjurotlkl
and say : "Superior, I am SON that you see it as I do," and Superior
would invariably see it U she did, and say so. In any controversy
or dispute that might be on hand between her and anyone else,

;ave her reason " though she had none ; and said she was
right when she was manifestly wrong. People talked of it, as of
course. In small communities where there is but one masculine sun
of any account and a great many feminine satellites, a few rays of
benevolence more or less arc jealously weighed and measured; and
what was no one's business became everyone's, like a riddle given to
the public to guess. But whatever Mrs. Everett's own thoughts
might be, or wherever Superior's inclinations tended, the ffork
undertaken by the one after the design of the other was plain and
clear enough— the absolute prevention of anything like relapse in
Hcrmionc's relations with her husband, and the serration between
them widened not narrowed. Richard was an infidel to be crushed,
and his wife should be made to crush him. It was infamous that
an atheist should hold this large property which was DM bit own ;
a scandal to justice and Christianity both, that he should apply to the
spread of infidelity funds rightful!] Church audit

must be put an end to now as speed3y M might be. Though the
great hope of permanent restitution had been frustrated through
Virginia's i I, pretty pickings might yet be gathered from

' the present proprietor if only that wretched ob
red.
-, then, was th point -Richard must be ousted from

his place of power and Hcrmionc must take on herself the adffl

i of her own affairs. The train had been well laid ; now was
lor prudent firing.

Everett smiled as she listened to .Superiur declaiming with
such scathing irony on the weakness of women and the folly of love,
while trading on the one and living by the breath of the other. Hut
she understood her lesson ami practised it faithfully. From the day

394 The Gentleman's ■"•.

on which she entered the AW 1 statu* in

his own house ; and, in spite of his evident d

notion alternated beti d the Ablx

")',.'■ house, 90UT fields, I lo say with

ine, of whom she icstions i

Old that, to which rfl< -ildgiver. ■

a helpless appeal to her husband.

" l>o not you know your own i rctt one

day. " How dreadful ' ■

,;\\'hy?" said Richard gravely " What mace b needed than
that the husband should act for the wife?"

'• You ban what Mr. Fullciton says," rcuirncd Mi -till

■peaking t" H« rmiose she never addressed Richard dire'

h ink that marriage merges a woman's individuality *oc
make her no km ;ionsible for what may l>e done in her

name with her means? i not ; and the docttfae seems

to me as dangerous as the practice is indelicate. Wc are
responsible for the use or abuse of our powers and privileges ; and to
say, ' . nd <lid this or that,- ■ lorhadc '

commanded that,' will n arc done whi-

against the glory of God and the influence of the

I [i -in.!, ne colourc<I anil looked dowa K med fron.

to the other, his sad fact- set into a certain proud sternness which,
m expression entirely strange to him, was now becoming only
nouinTulry fiunOI

rent from your
" When «e married our wills, our hearts, our interests were the came,
and one interpreter was siiffki

" -Shifting one's responsibilities docs not lessen the guill of
id Mn I
to, dear ? " to Hcrmionc. lot afraid to speak openly,

"U ? " in a low, sympathc
" No, shi icason to be afraid," said Ridiard ; and, " No,

1 am not afraid," said

" Then, ■ ally think that he is mar

'»uing the
The 0] curia of

conjugal.^ DO good to

rmione answer'

1 lermionc laughed nervou

'• Wc all do that at time*. I fancy," "he said with affect-

r/<rr which Lord? 395

Mrj, Everett smiled.

" Thjrt will be but a poor excuse at the Last Day," was the reply
mdf with perfect urbanity. " Bone of my bone and flesh of my Beth
*il! hue x bad time of it, I fear, if the one bone has taken service
under Satan, and the other lets itself be dragged into the same ranks

: i.iy must be* ruthless kind of .spiritual butchery, if a
pour soul is punished f<»r not hiving learnt, when in the body, what
km b ret* let, ami for LOW touch and to whom,"

uid R. " How you Christians Can imagine such a Divine

Bern; xs He whom you worship I cannot conceive. Your God of

re cruel than Moloch — your Divine Reason fl
■lun Juggernaut.

"Richard! don ' Hermione In despair.

Why would he say such dreadful things at the my lime when
Ac ms doing her best to defend him against Mrs. Everett; and
•wodv trying to think a little less ill of Mm than she had done of
b*! '

"I do nut wonder at your husband's smtiuieuts, detestable U

fcyaw,* said Mrs. Everett, still addressing Hermione. "If I held

'i of his rile opinions, I should the other. Naughty children

^"tys think tin frig parent cruel and the punishment hard.

Jndso it is with limn

"If I had compared the action of your God to that of a man,
•ouucild have called it blasphemous," said Richard, who was deter-
to have it out with her.

Mr*. Everett turned on hira.

"And so it would have been." she said passionately. " What
*> I blasphemer be but blasph It is a sin to discuss such

"bjects with you !" she added, rising in an agitation that was partly
^ and partly feigned. Then, as if she had recovered her serenity
tytttefbrt, led bltClt from the window where she lun I gone

far refuge, and said to Hermione amiably: "I am going out
•Wfi dear, though it is raining. Shall I tell Superior that you were

i of the weather?"

"No," said Hermione, rising also in agitation. M I will go with
J0"- I am not afraid of the weathi

* I wish you would not go out, Hermione. It is not fit for you
Said Richard, coming up to where she stood, and laying his
•"M on her shoulder.

Mrs. Everett averted her eyes as at something unholy : Hermione
"topped hers, and her lips quivered with nervous shyness. What

a frightful
as Rii bar
She dared nottt

" I can tak-
Edith Everett
can tell hi
that you wi
but that is

" How silly
will go ; I am
false play!
engagements w •

" Do not be I
said Mrs. Evert
myself for the 1
feelings, and forJ
so hard to me fl
wliom every gooal
Faith would have^
and earnest — I
and the truth I "

"1 sec my In..!
from them more," I
' Yet you go > i
his hands ! You give ]
it to make men infidcls/V
vation and the belief o^
his faults, and are a loyal dan. '

She spoke severely ; Hernul
of grievous peril to her mind.
Richard as he was, had less harnH
which kept the conjugal tic, thou

" My position is difficult," said Hi

Kdith Everett smiled.

" He who would save his life shall k>
know, my dear, we cannot carry our darih
would enter in at the strait gate. Your bu
and you will not free yourself from him ; In
afraid — that strait gate is terribly narrow I "

" What ought I to do ? " asked I Icrmionc, with
courage.

Mr*. Everett came close to her, and took hei

Under which Lord?

397

"Shall I tell you?" she said in a clear metallic voice. "Take
bid the management of your own affairs ; forbid him to use your
money as he docs for the spread of infidelity ; make him an allow-
■imc, and have a deed of separation. You will never be a true
.in or a good churchwoman, Hermione, until you do all this ;
Jnd Superior knows this as well as I do."
" No, I cannot do all this. Poor Richard ! " said Hermione.
Mrs. Everett let her hands fall

"Then you can never hope to go to heaven," she said. " You
pRfer the creature to the Creator, and sensual passion to holiness
lod uuth. Your love for your husband is simply sensuality and a
tameful sin, call it what you will."

" You do not know what you are saying," cried Hermione, strongly
qjtttai

" I think I do." said Mrs. Everett in a superior kind of way.
" It is you, poor thing, who do not know what you feci ! Neither I
nor Superior will ever think differently until you take your courage
a both hands and do as I say— and as he says too : — rid the place of
tt*s infamous atheism which your husband teaches, and free yourself
faun the declared enemy of the Church and your priest. There is
«o second way. It is this, or consenting with sinners and making
yourself responsible for their sin. There ! don't cry ! Tears do no
jood unless they are tears of repentance; and you arc only crying
because you arc weak and worried and cannot make up your mind
to do bravely what is right."

She went to her and kissed the grieving woman as if she had
been a child.

- I liave said enough for the present," she thought, watching hi r.
Things must go gently."

- a moment she spoke again.
"You poor darling!" she said; "I am so sorry to make you
unhappy. But I must, until I make you good. Don't fret any
more just now. Put on your bonnet and come with me to see dear
Superior. He will comfort you and tell you that I am right."

"I don't sec how that will comfort me," said Hermione irritably.
At this moment Mrs. Everett was the most hateful person in all
lion to her whom she had been appointed to guide and be-

The Gentleman's Magazine.

Chapter XXIX.

I TRRRORS OF JUDOMKNT.

Mr. Lascelles and Mis. Edith Everett stood by the parting of the
ways, she to return to the tedium of her duennaship at the Abbey,
he to the discomfort of his bereaved Vicarage ; both a little raped
liy the unpleasant conditions of the present moment, but <b»«

r together by the common need of sympathy rather than
apart into unfriendliness because of irritated nerves and ruffled
er. They had been talking of many things connected «ith the
h, .iiul had touched at last on the rel ie»l

her husband, and how far she might be counted on in !
struggle which Mr. Lascclh •> make. liuth kne*

that thf was profoundly impressed with faith and i --he be-

lieved in the truth of Christianity and was afraid of the power of the
Chinch ; but both knew also that her love for her husband wa dm
dead, and that since Virginia's defei tion i: ha I mean nndf-

niable revival ; and both were anxiously watching the alternate ri*
and fall of these two antagonistic forces, and speculating as tu«W
would finally overcome.

" Do you think she will be permanently influenced for good?—
you sec so much more of her than I do ! " said Mr. Lasce'les, careM
not to show too much personal interest in Herm

" Well, you sec, she is so weak ! " replied the pretty womwrs
friend and guide, speaking with tranquil contempt "There***
certainty with su< h people j and as for her, you never know where i»
have her. You think you have brought her to a right view of thop
one day, and the next she has taken a new Man and L» as far
ever, Shi ibly fatiguing. I hope she is worth all the rrouUe

taken about her ! "

"She is very impressionable," said Mr. I Jtscelles, steering bet**0

e and blame.

"That is a meek way of putting it, Superior. I should call If

miserably weak," return Everett, still with that same nhs.

contempt It was her method of asserting her own on*-

riodt;

1 Her will has been crushed so long. It is the paralyse of
aid the vicar, wishing to be charitable if just, yet nat
; to champion Hermione Fullerton too warmly to Mrs.
hazel eyes of hers were not pleasant to meet

Under which Lord?

399

looked as if they were reading tlte secret writing of the soul ;— and
somewhat despising the literatim-.

IC need not have been crushed. She need not have given in
to that vile husband of hers if she had not liked it," she said.
Ijr, no excuses arc to be made for her, Superior t She is Just a
child «nli Bice mumen and a pretty face and nothing whatever in
her. When yo-.i have said tha. m! I.i ..r:<<! vim have said all

for hcT that you can. Of mind trx ■ trace."

" Yn'.i. at least, will not Stnu'n the truth for charity. [ honour
your uncomproinisiii laid Mr. I i courtly

•' N-.,' she answered, I poring the in : an ting the bland-

ishment. " It is never my way to strain the truth ib
I like to see things : hem."

" Vet submi&siveness 1 1 aid plea-

santly.

" I I B) DOI dew r enough to see them in the case of Mrs, Fill-
lerton," she answered "Jelly-fish and that dreadful protoplasm
have their uses too, I suppose j but 1 confess I do not know what
they I

" \s an agent inspired byothai Mr. l-ascclles. "The

docility which has made Mrs l-'ullcrton submit so readily to her
husband will make her as obedient to the Church."

Mrs. Everett looked into vacancy and put on, as she could do at
will, a perfectly stolid, stupid, mindless look.

"She believes— that is the great thing gained," continued Mr.
Lascclles, and then waited for an answer.

" But she is one of those emotional people who require so mm i.
personal influence ! " she said. " It is not as if she h Meet,

any will, any force that could be misted to. She has to be dh
i hand — always guided."
'She has that influence in Direction," t. plied Herroione
demurely.

"To forget everything thai -he has prat . ■■

hen
enormous trouble to fou, Superior, If she is honest."

•' I alio* that She does give me infinitely more trouble than
some others whom I could name — Ma bo are at once

stronger and yet mo: ive."

riear smiled le giving his words their

Mrs. Everett smiled too, and adjusted heT bonnet-strings with ihe
automatic coquetry of a woman who, though she knows that she is not

400

The Gentleman* Magmiiu.

beautiful, also knows herself admired. Truly she had no cause wfcai
Hermione ! There was no rivalry' here that should make her doid.
Blunt nose ; small, gTcenish, hazel eyes ; a face that had not ok re-
deeming feature save its transparent skin, on the one side—on the
other loveliness as fresh and fragrant now as at eighteen ; but still »
rivalry that should make her afraid I For had she not brains by irhidi
she was enabled to be a clever man's still cleverer manipulator »«tfl
as coadjutor, while Hermione was but a child to be petted and atti
for — loved if you will and admired— but neither trusted to in moments
of difficulty nor confided in when clear counsel was needed— a mere
doll-wife, dainty, sweet, caressing, loving; — and that was all ! WA
such a man as Superior brains would count for more than booty,
and sweetness was less necessary than sense. He wanted somee«
by his side who had intt:lligt;in c enough to understand his own noi
and act with independent accord— strengthening his hands «Ht
freeing him from the trouble ot direction . not a mere machine,
however pretty, to work when guided but sure to fall into daordeT
if left to itself. No; Mrs. Everett saw nothing to be afraid of and
much to hope for. Hut she must not let Superior understand ha too
clearly, and she must manage things in her own way ; which *» ■*
exactly that in vogue at Crossholmc.

"Some men like troublesome women," she said.

"Do they?" asked Mr. Lascclles with affected innocence of
inquiry.

"Yes; pretty little creatures whose inferiority is a perpetual
witness of their own .supremacy," she said. " It gratifies then
love to feci themselves always on a pedestal, and to see the rebtnc
silliness of the dear little things I "

" So ! And who arc these men ? " he asked, still with lW
innocent air as of one wanting to know.

"Well, I do not think that you are one, Superior:" saidM*
Everett with frank confession. " You are too wise to like u>
dangerous honour of being the head-centre of an association of prenT
simpletons. You would feel more in your right place if surrowdol
by those who understood and could help you as interpreters of fo*
mind, rather than by mere dummies acting only according to muni'
orders ; is it not so ? "

"Surely I " said Mr. lascelles with a pei uKar mill " Hut •**
arc such to be found? So few women understand the d«|«*
thoughts of men 1 Some supplement us," he added courteously '<
" but it is given to very few to really understand us."

" I know that, being one of the ; said carelessly. "I do

Under which Lord? 401

most thoroughly understand them and society too. Had I been
bom a man I should have gone into diplomacy. And I would have
nude a name. As it is I shall make my son's, when he is old enough,
hand died just as I had laid the train of his success," she
wnton to say. " Had he lived he would have been distinguished.
1 bow that he would have been made a bishop. The whole thing
»u ripening when he was taken."
" I know you arc invaluable/' said Mr. Lascelles with earnestness
i more nattering than passion. " But in the matter of your
1, now — I, who uphold the celibacy of the clergy as a necessity
of church discipline, can scarcely be expected to feel entirely
uikficd."
He lowered his eyes as he said this, and put on an official look.
" Yes, as a principle, their celibacy is best," returned Mrs. Everett.
' But when we have so much to work against any help is valuable,
a wife may be looked upon as a lay worker — like a district
ir, for instance. I think the thing would be lawful if her own
t was in the right place, and she could be really of use to the
Church by the social advancement of her husband. Women have
;r, Superior " "
u You have," he said.

'Yes; I know that I can be of use where I .1111 trusted," she

cd. "As I hope you will find in this matter of Mrs. Fulleiton."

as if to put the other aspect of the subject from her.

"And you really think she will be induced to take the estate out

"f her husband's hands?" he asked, also anxious to drop that slight

tension on the value of diplomatic wives to ambitious ritualistic

I think so," said Mrs. Everett; "and would say 'yes' without
beiUlion if she had the smallest pretence to a moral backbone. But
«K cm never be quite sure of such a weak creature as she is."

"The scandal of the present stale of things is unbearable," said
lilt ricar angrily.

"My only wonder is how you have not put an end to it before
ftis." returned Mrs. Everett. " I think I should have found the imy
hi I been here. Your sister ought to have managed it ; for thi
fcitonc of those cases where a woman's aid is required, and where
•Oman can act satisfactorily by himself."

■ I count on you now," said the vicar with emphasis.

" I will do my best," she answered. " Poor Superior ! " she
tided with a sympathetic little smile. " What a dreadful set you
tore fallen into I Hennione Fullerton, Theresa Molyneux — your
nu ccjtxv. no, 1786. D D

■

402 Tlu Genllcmaris Magazine.

■

tmud

ikbnd

fundi

wind
«eva»

sister who deceived and deserted you — all these silly gaping creatures
setting their caps at you and each hoping to be the Honourable Mrs.
Lasccllcs, while not one lias the smallest qualification for the pi**.
You arc to be pitied ! " She shrugged her shapely shoulders sad
laughed.

" But with Edith Everett to put all straight— " he said.

" You are to be congratulated in having odc serviceable I
among the dummies ! " she answered quickly ; bidrling him futwll
and leaving him to digest what she had already said. It was i
fur one day.

By this time the cottages in I-anc End were almost finished, J
the men had been told by Richard that they might take |.jsv--<''
when it Milled theru. Naturally the news got abroad ; as indeed *ij
should ii not? An open check to the vicar, there was do scoter
in the matter from hist to last; and neither Richard nor tbe am
cared who knew it.

They were charming little cottages built with all mode:
ances and convenience, and each standing in its own pleasant
of garden ground ; and they were an hitec turally ornamental
made a pretty feature in the 1. They were not set it

fancy price either up or down in the scale : but the rent was calculate"
on a just basis, as a (ail and equitable interest on the capttl
expended- Thus, no eleemosynary character tainted the btoesf
winch they undoubtedly would be to the tenants -, and a few iidu-
tcctural flourishes were not reckoned as of exorbitant value bean*
pleasing to the eye. They were dwellings built with humane ihocgat
and generous intention, but with the common sense of a good buaerfl
man Bl well. Parcelled out among the men from the first, they had hw"
all along looked on as their certain homes ; and each assigned cce*

• pier had made this and that suggestion lot his own fancy or come
nience, while ha house was in course of erection, and had dctenninci
wl . ind that should go, and what he would do here andihett-

They were all highly delighted with their ]>rospcctivc dwellings, sat
looked forward to taking possession with pleasure and eagerness. If
there was one thing more than another that might be considered
certain in this shifty life of ours, it was that Richard Fulkrton'tnr*
cottages would be inhabited by tin whom they were designed

ng the sudden death of the intended tenant, there was surer/
nothing dial could step in between — earthquakes and tornadoes not
being things of ordinary occurrence in England.

This then was the moment for which Mr. Lascclles bad been
wailing. When most secure the blow that shatters all comes with

Under which Lord >

403

1 b

and

greatest force ; and if he could strike that blow now he should bavc
accomplished the larger half of his great endeavour. Could he?
Would Hermione do as directed? Though her mind, never strong
nor self-reliant, had become weakened through superstitious belief, yet
her affections were not dead. Had she been an intelligence only, with
no interrupting emotions, the tiling would have been easy; but side
by side with her superstitious belief in the power of the priesthood—
in the sinfulness of reason — in the lost condition of that soul wbi h
to doubt and hesitates to obey — WM the strength of her natural
iieia, her hatred of giving pain, ha UV

4; that respect which still lhrcd thesuper-

incumbent mass of reprobation that had been heaped over it;— and her
sense of in ring him this unmerited affront. Step by

step she had been led up to this, the final blow; and now when she
was commanded to give it, she quailed and refused.

When the vicar told her what he wanted her to do, she cried and
nk within herself, saying No ! she could not ! indeed, indeed, she
ould not ! Richard had had so much sorrow of late ; she dared not
. irn any more ! It would kill him if she did, and she would be his
urderess. She besought Superior to spare her this trial, to be merciful
he was powerful, to be gentle to her and humane to her husband.
He might have been a God baton the knelt, so abject was

she, so humble, SO passionate in her pleading ; and the might U
well have sued to the tempest, sought to wlten the rook by her tears,
as pray thus passionately to him ! The vicar was not the man to
defer his triumph for a woman's tears; and when crosses had to
Ik carried he objected to too great an outcry.

•• It is your bounden duty, your obligation to God and man, he

-n';, •• You arc the real owner of the property, and to allow

husband, your agent, to openly affront me and offend the

K by harbouring these men who arc my enemies and the

bcls. is to make jrourseU one with bis sin, And what is

this ostentatious harbourage of men v, Inn 11 I h.ive driven out but an

ict of direct hostility to mc — of open defiance of my authority ? And

uphold this— make yourself one with it — you my chosen friend

and dearest daughter '. "

" He baa always managed the estate, and he promised 1
those men," she faltered weakly.

" A nest of infidels I — You wish them fostered here in this parish
where weed faith arc giving our very lives to establish religion

and sound doctrine ?— where I am straining every nerve, and submitting
myself to every indignity to recall these lost sheep; and where you are

i obc.

mionr.

404 The Gentleman's Magazine.

all-powerful for good or evil, as you choose to make yourself?
present you arc all-powerful for evil ; but you might be my bn
best, most valuable assistant, if you would shake yourself free from this
sinful subservience to your infidel husband — this infamous
dience to the enemy of the Church 1 "

One strong irresistible wave of feeling swept over I
The vicar's brutality, nicely calculated as it was, stirred her
rather than shamed her love. Her heart turned back to the husband
of her youth, to die man of her girlish passion, and she forgot »H
that level tract of dull content which lay between. He wn h«
husband, the father of her child, the one true guide and centre of
her life. The Church and the Revelation which he had so systems-
tically outraged and denied faded away into the dim distance of he»
consciousness, and only feeling, affection, and old-time loyalty «•
ruained.

" He is my husband," she said, lifting her eyes and speataf,
though still gently, with a certain warmth that smote on the wart
car as if she had uttered blasphemy.

He almost gasped. It was the traditional worm turning agin*
his heel — the legendary dove roused to self-defence — the return bio*
of a slave thought to be subdued to passive non-resistance for life;
and for a moment astonishment checked his speech. But only fa
a moment. Looking at her as if she had been some curious ins**:

"My dear child, I thought I had explained away your super-
stitious regard "or the mere words of a promise which Sana to*
broken and defiled," he said with compassionate contempt "Yes
cannot be a true daughter of the Church and an obedient wife; **d
if you hold by your husband, you must of necessity abjure jW
Saviour. Must I g» over the whole ground again ?"

" I know all that you would say, but I cannot act up to it,'0^
Hcraionc with a certain helpless • that would have toutbrf

anyone but Mr. Lasccllcs. "Sol you seem to be right ; W

when you want me to do such a thing as this, I do not think you «rc
—and I cannot

She covered her face with her hands. He took them awy.sC
too gently.

" No ; you shall look at me," he said sternly. " Your
shall at least be open and confessed I"

" It is not defiance, Superior," she pleaded, lifting up
eyes to his, but yet not giving way — keeping to her j>oint through
her gentleness. Was this really Hcrmtone Fullerton— the plastic
creature whom he had manipulated with so much trouble, whose

ha *.-•

Under xvhich Lord?

405

divorce he had managed so easily, and whose very soul he had won,
as he once believed, so thoroughly? Was this really HcTinione
Kullcrton ? He could hardly believe it.

o?" he sneered. " It is not defiance? By what euphetn
then, would you call it

" My duty as a wife," she said humbly.

'• No I no I A thousand times no !" he answered, in a low, con-
centrated, hissing kind of voice. " It is not duty; it is licJietl — it is
base and craven e i it is shameful sel&ndulgent sloth of soul

—more slum [on for a man whom you should

regard as an emissary of Satan, a Judas re- incarnate. (Jo back to
your husband in all the infamy of your former love ; go back in open
infidelity to Christ ! Do not dignify your ■vin by fine words Un
diatom 1 Confess it for what it K and take your pari with the
enemies of Cod and the CI II I Dgl '■• ■ ■ • I »" with S.itan and his

agents with something like wholc-hcartedncss I Leave the Church 1
leave mc to my arduous fight against the devil, whose visible power
td strengthens by your means ! Co back to the practical
atheism of youi former state; but do not stand here neither in
the pale nor out of it, neither a true daughter of the Church nor an
Often foe, confessing Christ with your lips and dishonouring Him in
your deeds 1 Iaikewarm adherents like you do us more harm than
declared enemies ; and wen: you twenty tinea Mrs. Fullerton of the
Abbey, I would ctronmiuni< ate you from among us;— and will— if
you arc not obedient to direction."

She crouched like one who has I .. kno.lmg on the floor.

^" You frighten me !" she said with 1 little cry.
" Because 1 shame you !" he answered. " It is your conscience
ch makes you afraid, not I. I am but the mirror in which you
the hideousness of your guilty soul.'
" Superior ! Superior I have mercy I" she cried.
A Ciudfix was standing on the table by which he sat. For the
second time he took her hands from before her face, and made hat
look at the acred emblem of her faith and the divine source of Ml
power.

" You swore on this to obey me when I commanded," he said
'• What was the value of your oath then? Where will it l;md you il
>u break it now ?"
Hermionc did not speak ; she could not. This was the con-
lion of all the anguish that life could give. The spiritual
itsolencc and harshness of the priest in place of the high-bred
courtesy and soft philandering to which she was acewstonwei, aX ot\cc

406

The Gentleman s Magazine.

terrified and revolted her. The pride of her womanhood, of ha
gentle ladyhood, was outraged ; her personal delight in this handwow
Director was wounded ; her submission, which had already cost bo so
dear at home, was returned with ingratitude. She thought of Richard,
of his patient tenderness, of his very dulness by reason of loyal
security — and now this tyranny ! this insolence ! She made a move-
ment as if to rise from her knees, swung by the impulie to po back
to Richard and shake all this from her as too degrading to be borne.

As she moved, half raising herself, Mr. I-welles took her band
and placed it on the crucifix.

"Take this," he said in a deep voice. " Honour it or renounce
it. Obey me, the appointed interpreter of Him who died foi
or crucify Him afresh by your misdeeds. V'ou shall do one « ihe
other before you leave this place. You shall be cast out from cw
midst or you shall be faithful and obedient. Will you swear to to
as I command and refuse to harbour these men on your estate?"

" Superior ! " she cried.

" Will you ? One word— yes or no ?"

"How ran I say this to my husband! Have pity oo o*
Superior t "

She clung to him, grasping his coat ; but he tore away ber run*
with contemptuous passion.

" Do not touch me ! " he said. " You arc perjured and acaod
You have denied your Ixird ; and until you repent and obey, you a*
excommunicate from the Church ! "

He turned away abruptly and left her still kneeling on thel»«;
ih.it accusing crucifix l>efore her on the table, and " cxcoubuumU*1
from the Church " ringing in her ears.

Chapter XXX.

'TWIVi IMMMER and anvil.

[me (lay passed, and yet nothing was done. Hermione, mdiip**
with the vicar and denied absolution, was still further exercised bf
Mrs. F.verett who made her understand that she considered her mom
sinful than even her atheist husband, in that, having put ber hxml !*
the plough, she had turned back from the work— having made
the household of faith, she had gone over to the service of SaUfc
:.|>okc of the spiritual pi ril of such a state as hers, and what «aiU
come to her after death if she died in her sins, with the conviction
almost commonplace in its certainty of one who affirms that dynamite

Under which Lord?

407

will explode if sharply struck, or that a ship will sink if scuttled. She
told her in plain words without gloss or circumlocution that she VH
cast out by the God whom she had practically denied, and in the
grv Evil One who be WU doing — as she had done

for so many years now ! But with this difference, to her shame, that
whereas formerly she tod unconscious, now she

knew the full rM Were she to die at this

moment- — indwhi ihour? the would go head-

long to perdition, down, down to that eternal pit, U Sttn K 1 stone
flung into the water sinks to the bottom, She was doomed. So long
as she maintained her present attitude of rebellion to the dn
authority of the Church, there was no hope for her in heaven, no
peace for her on earth.

All this was said again and again, now with indignation at her
wickedness, now with wonder at her weakness, and again with pity
for her tragical fate ; but it was said incessantly ; and Hermionc felt
girt round with fire turn which way she would, and that whether she
resolved to obey Superior or protect Richard, she was all the same
do<-: ifler.

And it must Ik- i red that she believed implicitly in all

this fuliginous theology. Il ■ ■ to her when the awful

conditio ma painted in words of fire and fiame ; Satan

was no turnip-headed bogie dressed Op to frighten the Ignorant, bill

Wa very real and actual presence acknowledged now, to be known
by visual demoi bell were tangible

realities, the one in the eternal light of the sky. the other somewhere
and according to our actions we were carried Dp into the
iry of the one or clashed down into ihe unfathomable
it Other, When Edith Everett reminded her of all these
fearful perils which she was braving because of her cowardice — " for
*!' ? " asked her guide and friend scornfully

— she trembled as if she were already in the grasp of that hairy-
• whom she had given herself b) bei lift. Her
had none of that robust eclecticism which chooses the
ees where the soul may dwell in comfort and leaves the
ly ■ pleasant I meet

r herbs to rot in the ground which brought
ted all k. .1 glossary or

the budding. Hence, jodgin by her creed, she knew

that she was at this moment, as Edith Everett had said

ibsolved— in the power of Satan because in dwEra.ce ns\s8&

408

The Gentleman s Magazine.

the vicar. She realized the sinfulness as well as the danger of ha 4j-
obedience to bet Director in this weak return to wifely deference ml
wifely pity, as clearly as she realized the fact of the antipodes ; tut
she was unable to nerve herself to the self-crucifixion demanded Ijj
the Church. And even when exhorted to pray for strength *o that
she might be able to perform this act of immolation, she wept instad,
in her heart not wishing to be so strengthened.
So the day passed, and nothing was done.

In the evening Mr. Lascelles sent up a note to Edith Everett,
telling her to say to Mrs. Fullerton that he begged she would aotpe
sent herself at Early Celebration to-morrow, as he should feel
Compelled to refuse her ; and that in the existing state of things
would rather she did not come to the services at all. It would 1
painful to him and an increase of condemnation to herself ; and la
very tenderness for her he must deny her false consolation. HewU
determined to make her excommunication complete until her unqia-
lificd and entire return to submission. He was not a man of i
measures, and this was a case wherein apparent harshness wa» I
truest kindness.

This note, written for Hcrmionc to sec, was handed over to her
so soon as read ; and as she gave it to her Mrs. Everett realized t
joy which a woman feels when her rival is humiliated. But she
expressed herself as deeply, sincerely grieved ; grieved that things
should be as they were ; but, being as they wctc, Superior was in the
right, and she, poor sinful weak-hearted Hermione, was n
Did not the Service itself say that the impenitent cat and drii
own damnation ? And until she had repented of her obstinacy awl
irncd. again to the right way of obedience and sincerity, Superior
bad nothing for it but to cut her off from the lnxly of the faithful,
lest worse should befall her. Would she then do as she 0
Would she forbid those infidel men the use of htr cottages? Migl
she, Mrs. Everett, write and tell .Superior that she had come at I
into a proper frame of mind, and that she was penitent
obedient ?

To which poor Hermione answered despairingly :

" Not yet ! not yet ! Give me a little more time to make up I
mind 1 "

"To dally with sin, you mean," said Mrs. Everett severeh.
" Remember, Hermione ! each hour's delay strengthens Satan by »
much extra power, and makes your return to grace so much |
difficult."

" J must think of it. I cannot to-night. Richard looks

' Under which Lord? 409

2nd ill. I think another blow would almost kill him \ will be

such a blow '. " said Hermionc, turning her 1 lly to the door.

" If he is the man of sense he passes for, he will not let it be a
blow or a surprise to him in any way," Hid Mrs. Everett. " He must
know, if he reflects at all, that it is impossible things can go on like
this. When you Vi 1 <1 and as careless of God as he

If, you did not trouble fOUTOClf M to what was done with your
v and in your name. But now, when you have become a
faithful Churchwoman— are you a faithful Churc.hwom.in after all ?— it
is monstrous to suppose that you will allow your fortune to go in
propagating infidelity *od noticing (Candaloua favourites of notorious
infidels. Mr. Fullcrton mu.u sec it all as clearly as we do ; and if
he is really liberal, he must allow you to act according to your
conscience."

" But this will not make the pain any the less," said Hermionc.
'.nd until he is pained your soul is in deadly peril, and the
consolations of religion arc denied you," returned Mrs. Everett.
'• For my own part, I would do anything in the world rather than stand
in your present position. The marvel to me <s how you can bear it
for an hour, when you yourself can put an end to it, now this very
instant if you will. Excommunicate ! You 1 Denied the holy
Eucharist— even forbidden to attend the public offices of the Church !
And you suffer all this that you may not wound the self-love, the base
human pride, of the most notorious soul-destroying atheist in the
country ! What a farce to call yourself cither a Churchwoman or a
Christian I "

"I im both — but I am a wife as well," said Hermione, too
sharply stung for patience

■ crett's long upper lip ( ailed contemptuously.

" I K>you call such a union as yours *maniage'?" she said. " fo
US of the true faith it is len.ili/c-'l sin. and .1 shame that you should
speak of it ! Do not shelter yourself behind that pota little pa I
There is no marriage where there is no blessing by the true Church.
And you know that the Church neither could nor doessam :tio:
a union as this ! To sacrifice the Church to Mr. Fullerton on the
plea of his being your husband is simply to add to your sin, because

igtQg into it one guilt the more."

" I ain very, very unhappy ' " said Hermionc, letting her hands
fall on lie:

•' Yes," replied Mrs. Everett ; " of course you are 1 We are
. unhappy when we arc doing wrong. Then I am not to tell
Superior dial you submit ?"

4io

The Gentleman s Magazine.

"No, I will tell him myself— when I do," said Hcrmione, turning
wearily away.

The next day, Sunday, all things were as Mr. LasceUct
decreed. The Lady of the Manor was for the time excommu
and her place among the worshippers was kejrt conspicuously '
For though the theory was that all places were free alike, the |

different ; and the great ladies of Orovsholmc were never in
moded by the (o'lni ni the little people. Everyone looked
wondered .it this strange vacancy of Mrs. Fullerton'* ac
<h:nr; and when service was over everyone crowded round
Everett, and asked : Was Mrs. Fullerton ill? what was amiss?'
had she not come? had she had bad news of Virginia? m
Fullerton laid up, and she at home nursing him? what was it t
had kept her away } wh.ii did it mean?

In which question] Mrs. Everett gave cautious, yet in a i
suggestive answers. Mrs. Fullerton tttt not ill in hody, she i
with a slight emphasis that pointed the alternative so obvioudri
set the congregation wondering what ailed her mind — and had i
gone out of it ? as more than one scoffer had prophesied she I

But her guide and friend having said this, said no more;
always smiling, took her way back through the park and so to |
Abbey — calculating hd chanc cs as she went. Not handsome, will
money, and the mother of four children — could it be done ? I
believed in her capacity to help him on in his work, and with the i
yes. And the first test of this capacity would be to succeed ]
he had failed ; to Influence to the point of unqualified SOD
that tender soul, which he, with all his powers of fascinatioa
authority combined, had not quite controlled. If she could do I
he might then perhaps be brought to credit her ability to make I
a bishop, if she were his wife. And as a liithop how much
would be his sphere of action, how much more impressive
authority and more effective his influence ! As for his principle* I
the celibacy of the clergy — other nun who held the same views I
found their better part in mal when the thing came to I

!v presented, no why should not he? The question had I
asked before at Crossholme, with as yet no satisfactory replr. I
then Edith I and it would take one as i

she to win such a man as Mr. I ^sccl

This dead, dry, soulless Sunday passed like all other
able times, and Monday came in its course. No action had
been taken, and the men were preparing to move in ; John i
was already in possession, and Dick Stern's wife had

Under which Lor. 411

him his new home by night. Hermionc stood at the fork, still
hesitating — not brave enough to go resolutely on either road ;
temporizing, doubting, fearing, hoping against hope and vaguely
looking for a miracle which should save her from her trial and
Richard from his pain, yet put things square with the Wear's
She sent messages and notes of abject humility, beseech-
ing Superior to pardon her, but not promising obedience ; but as
he could not bend her he would not forgive her; and each hour
that passed only deepened her sin and added to his demands.
At first he had ordered her mcTcly to refuse the men possession of
the new cottages built for them at Lane End ; but now raising the
price of his forgiveness, like that of the Sibylline Books of Ol
demanded that she should not only do this but also take the Institu-
tion out of her husband's hands; and then, not onlj nition
but the whole management of the estate. On these tcrnis only
would he reoehre her back into the Church as a penitent absolved

i.ersin. It was this or excommunication, both from his frici:
and the sweet consolations of the Chun h.

It was a bold stroke that he played ; for all or nothing; but the
monv i e. If he let this occasion slip he might never have

another so favourable.

And now the final struggle had come. Love or religion — her
ui's control or her Director's authority — the obligations of
marriage or the ordinances of the I which would win ?

:r which Lord would the finally elect to serve?

rsonal perplexity the bills which she

had incurred for the restoration of the church and other things

connected with the parish and Mr. Lttcelles, were sent in to her

in a mas-. .int payment was peremptorily demanded of

some ; and to add yet more to the pressure put on her on all sides,

Superior fell ill, and sent for Edith Everett in terms which

cited a dying man sending ud to

■

" Let me go with you!" pleaded rlenuione, when her guest told

her the m

"1 am sorry, but she answered . and showed

in Mr. La* d written in .;

ly hand : "On DO Recount allow Mrs Fullerton to accompany
you, be has repented of h id is prepared to oli.

" How can I do ii ' how can I I" murmured Hermionc, hiding
her face in desp

ou must answer that to the Eternal Judge at the Last I)ayx"

412

The Gentleman s Magazine.

said Mrs, Everett coldly. " There will be no half-measures
and no pica of ' how can I' allowed."

On which she turned away and went down to the Vicarage, what
she sat for about two hours with Superior, who had really a slight
attack of feverish cold, and whose notes she wrote, and all his otha
business transacted, with delightful assumption of necessary an*
ance as well as with charming facility and help.

"She is an uncommonly tilever woman ! " thought the vicar ask
• back in his easy-chair, watching the long lissome fingers monof
i swiftly over the paper. " And though she is .not handsome it
first sight, it is a face that satisfies one more on acquaintance thai
m.iny others of perfect beauty. She has mind and character; and ii
such a thorough woman as well ! "

If Mis. Everett could have read the vicar's mind, would she km
called this an advance in her secret project ?

When she returned to the Abbey after her two hours of tramjai
business-like assistance, she went into the drawing-room with dec?
melancholy, unspeakable dejection imprinted on every fettst,
expressed in every gesture. Dear Superior was very ill indeed, d»
said ; his distress of mind at Hcrmionc's lost condition and souge
rccalcitration was such that he could not sleep nor eat — he could odf
pray with tears for the recovery of the dear lost soul now given ore
to Satan.

" He is sick for your sin," said Edith Everett with mounfcl
solemnity. " If he dies you will be the cause. He is in a high few
and is really very ill," she added, falling into commonplace ataest
without knowing.

" May I not go down and see him ?" asked Hcrmionc anxioolf.

•• No," Mrs. Everett answered. " He begged me to forbid Hjj
such attempt on your part Even Theresa Molyncux has to bt
given up, though this is her day ; and you know how punctual be «
in his parochial duties; so that I am sure he is not able to see w**

" But I am so much more his friend than Theresa has em
been 1 " said Hcrmione jealously.

" And for that very reason your visit would be so painful as to bt
impossible," she returned. " You know how many hopes he
jrou, and what a holy joy it was to him to think that he had
privileged to save you from perdition — and now, to sec you so
a cast-away ! It would be more than he could bear in his
condition I"

The tears came up into those clever eyes and overflowed the lid*
with a decent kind of passion. Hennione turned away in trouble

Under which Lord?

413

(hit she could neither control nor conceal. It touched her soft heart
tt think that Superior should be so sorry for her as this ; it pricked
her conscience that she should be so undutiful to the Church ; it
probed her pride that her visit should be refused ; she who had been
upreme up to now, to be set aside while Edith Everett was exalted
■ her stead! Her whole moral being was disturbed; and beyond
ad above all was that abject fear of the Judgment to come, which
kxh Mrs. Everett and Superior said she had provoked, and whi.li
le own conscience, as informed by Church teaching, told her she
faernd
"What can I do?" she cried, wringing her hands.
"Do as you arc commanded," said her guide and friend. " Take
the management of your affairs into your own hands, and out of
those of your infidel husband ; refuse to allow your money to be
*sy longer used for the spread of atheism and the ruin of immortal
soob; and refuse to allow your land to be turned to the use of
ioMcls who spend their lives in trying to destroy the Church. It is
caddish to ask what you arc to do ! Your duty is plain before you,
and until you do it you can have no peace."

"I shall have no peace any way, do what I will," said poor
Hennione, speaking sincerely in her sorrow.

" So peace in doing the will of God ? Are you too an infidel ? "
Mrs. Everett severely.
The flesh may be weak, however willing the spirit," said

'If your Spirit were really willing you would soon find strength for

rdety." returned her friend. "How you can think of your present

, and keep in it, I cannot understand !" she continued. "It

send me mad ! I would do anything in the world to get

it— cut off my hand, prude out my eye ! "

"I believe you would, but then you do not feel giving pain so

las I do," returned Hennione.

Everett turned herself square to her friend and faced her

'I do not feel giving pain so much as you do? " she said. "To
I man who has brought countless souls to perdition, perhaps
id I thank God for it ! But 1 feel more than you do the crime
pain to my Director, of causing scandal to the Church, of
Christ afresh by my sin. If I were in your horrible position
'certainly should not mind giving pain to the man who had done so
Kadi 10 hurt our Mother ; and if you were a true Churchwoman you
(void not have two thoughts on the subject"

414

The Gentleman s Afqgn

"lama true Churchwoman, and I have a great many thoughts,'
said Hcrmionc petulantly.

Mrs. Everett looked at her with undisguised contempt

" You are a mere child I " she said. " I shall never take yon
part with Superior again. He may think of you what he like*, aai"
I shall not trouble myself to defend you."

" Superior has no right to speak against me. I have been bit
best friend here, and have helped him to the utmost of my pewe,'
said Hcrmionc with spirit.

" You have — granted ; but what arc you doing now ? Yon were
B help to him, but now you arc a broken reed and have pierced ta
hand when he most leant on you ! 1 think Superior is quite rigbl«
all he says ; and I will do what I can too to help him to make a
exchange. Crossliolme is not a fit place for him. He is lo>
and would be far hotter off elsewhere ; and better appreciated too!"

Hcrmionc started and looked at Edith Everett with a sudiei
spasm of fear on her face.

•' He told dm to-day," continued the widow carelessly, "that*
could not bear the strain here any longer. And I ran understand it
A Conscientious priest has difficulties enough when he is helped OB al
sides. Tlie sins of unregenerate humanity arc hard enough m the»
selves to cope with ; but when it comes to a ]>erson in your poaftOl
helping infidelity, giving confessed atheism all the influence of ye*
money, all the prestige of your position, then the thing becomes im-
possible '. And Superior is quite right to shake the dust off hafc*
and leave you all to yourselves and destruction. Perhaps the KB
vicar will be a Protestant " — contemptuously — "or a cloaked in64d
e-dliru; himself a liroad Churchman; or one of those heretics who prist
themselves on being Evangelical" — still more contemptuously. *'
hope so. He will be better fitted for the congregation, so far as 1 as
judge, than a devoted priest like Superior, with his faithful hand of
followers and helpers."

" Does he talk seriously of going?" asked Hermionc in disnuy-

" Certainly he does," Mrs. Everett answered as calmly
had been telling the truth. " He told me to-day that tfyoocos-
tinued impenitent he would give up the living. After the shancW
disgrace in which your daughter took such a prominent part, I bo*
say, Mrs. Fullerton, I think you owe him more consideration thss
you show."

1 iha! is just what I feci about ray husband," she retuned
" His distress about Virginia is so great ; and, after all, she wu the
youngest of them, and entirely under the influence ol 3atS."

Under which Lord?

415

"How blind and mad you are!" cried Mrs. Everett with temper.

» if her father's awful infidelity was not the primary cause of your

iter's perversion ! You speak as if he was to be pitied, when it

f him alone, in the first instance, th.it this awful crime was com-

iook on him as the ruin of your child, not in any sense as

•sufferer. As Superior says, that man is the direct agent of Satan,

I all hi* natural good qualities, which we do not deny " — " We ! "

. rmione jealously — " arc so many more snares set by the

ny of mankind for the destruction of souls. You know all this

[*tfl as I do, and yet you uphold him. and do your utmost to

Kthen his hand*. Never call you rself.i Chii- tian, still less a good

of the Church, again ! You are the comforter and abettor

F infidel*; and I only hope that Superior will leave Crossholmc and

'hi* prccioi ttions where they will be better appreciated

I do more good."

"Don't ! " cried Hermione, covering her face.
"Then repent of your sin and do your duty as you ought," said
Kr& Everett, going back to her point with the cold insistancc of an
uiomaton.
Tm-ixt hammer and anvil in tnith, and no one able to save her !
10 the Church or cruel to her husband, on no side could
nod comfort or get rid of that awful difficulty — opposing
Here called by natural feeling, there commanded by eccle-
tical authority — she scarcely knew which voice to obey since it was
sible 10 rceoncilethe two. If only her duty to the Church could
: been harmonized with humanity toherhusband I— if only Superior
I absolve and bless her once more, yet poor Richard be saved from
suffering! What could sbe do? What could she dp? She
let Superior leave the place because of her; abandon his
, his congregation, his mission. That would be a sin for
*bc could neve: hope to be pardoned. And just now too,
1 the church, in tin restoration oi which he liad taken so much
: and pleasure, wa* so nearly finished and ready for re-opening !
linen he was ill, on accounl of her ; and in such deep mental
[ because of her -in ! Things could not go on in theii present
:; and yet she had not the heart to free herself from her difAcol
1 by dealing so hardly with her husband. And yet again, if she
I not, she must confess all that mass of debt to him, and what she
1 undertaken to do for the church ! There was no way of escape
rher, turn where she would. Girt round with fire— 'twlxt hammer
I anvil — there was nothing for her but pain and penance, and the
ttguish, as it was to her, of making others suffer.

416

The Gentleman's Magazine.

In the midst of her desperate trouble Richard came into Uq
drawing-room where she and Mrs. Everett sat — the one writhing, tii
other torturing.

"Could 1 have a word with you, Hermione?" he asked.

His manner was as quiet, his face as calm and sad as em, bu
he did not look mure than usually disturbed.

"Yes," Mid Hermione in an embarrassed voice. "Whatdojwi
want with me, Richard ? "

" It is to look at the leases of the new cottages at Lane End." he
answered. " They arc ready for your signature."

" Now is the moment. Be firm to the Church, or by yow*«
deed expel Superior from the parish. If the men get those fcoafl
he will not stay; it all depends on you," said Mrs. Everett in ik*
tone of voice, preparing to leave the room, but bending over Hfi'
mione before going.

" Perhaps it will be more convenient to you to come intomtstaif?
I do not wish to disturb Mrs. Everett," said Richard.

" It will not disturb mc to go upstairs for an hour," said Mil]
Everett, answering Richard through Hermione, as was her woot.

" I would rather go into the study," said Hermione, tremUui; |

She felt as if the sight of those iniquitous skulls of Esqnnaoi
and Andaman Islanders, those atheistic casts of brains and tto
phemous anatomical plates, those soul-destroying microscopes whkk
with the photographs of the moon and a chart of l-'raunhofcr's li»r*
were the visible witnesses of Richards infidelity— she felt as if J
these things would strengthen her in dealing the blow, if it had to be
given, as she feared must needs be ! She must not sign those Icjjo;
she must not let Superior leave the place and imperil the etenJ
salvation of her own soul and all the parish l>ec.aus€ of her •«*«•
ncss in the face of pain. Aud yet, poor Richard I Poor Rich
was so good in spite of everything I And at one time how
she loved him ; and would now, were it not a A

" Remember, Hermione ! God sees you, and Superior will
to be told," were Edith Everett's last words, spoken in a whi
the miserable Lady of the Manor walked slowly away.

(To fit continued.)

417

CONCERNING PROTOPLASM.

THE nature of that curious collocation of actions we commonly
denominate "life," .mil the connection which exists between
! the bodies it invests arul whose interests it directs, have ever
fcrmed subjects of extreme speculative interest to cultured mankind.
In the classic ages su BtJOD WIS rife, and modern biology but

repeats the procedure of the ancient world, and with additional
wirces of knowledge and wealth of research, proceeds to discuss
mew tbc great question of the origin and nature of life. Each year
brings its own quota of detail and argument concerning this im-
portant and fundamental matter of modern life-science, and in more
thin one aspect it may be said to be the pivot around which the
research of today turns. The subject of the origin of itself

» burning question of biology, leads directly backwards to the origin
jf those powers and properties in virtue of which the species retains
bbold on the world, and which lie at the root and foundation of the
umrse of animals and plants. Investigate the development of a liv-
ing being, and you are led directly backwards to the germ from which
■ springs and to the consideration of the power in virtue of which
6c shapeless evolves the formed, and the general grows to become
the special. Study the differences and distinctions or the likenesses
resemblances that biology brings to view between animals and
and you will inevitably touch upon the subject of the nature of
common life which invests both regions of living beings, and which
d in its roost varied aspects appears to present features of strange
confusing identity between the animal kingdom on die one hand,
the plant creation on the other. Pass to consider " the records
the rocks" themselves, and in due course the question of the first
iogs of life on our planet — the when, whence, and whither of
ry — will crop up like some unperceived but felt presence which
around the biological ".mum. The subject of life and its
thus awaits us at the beginning of existence, as it faces us at
dose ; and there is little wonder that of all questions of philosophy
should be deemed the most important, and that those who sit in
places in temples biological should so often dwell upon its
nr>t_ cexuv. «<r>. 1786. e F.

4 1 8 Tlu Gentleman s Magazine.

varied aspects as a fit and proper theme for philosophic consideration
by both gentle and simple, learned and unlearned, in scientific ways.
The investigation of life from any point of view leads us to seek
in the lower confines of the living worlds, the subjects which arc
likely to present us with the simplest and most elementary manifesta-
tions of living forces. The life- history of the higher animal and
plant appears before us as the acme of intricate operations, and as a
complex collection < I toriea and organisations, the working of

which may well puzzle and perplex us even in its plainest dc
The mere study of a single function in the higher organism is beset
of greater or less kind. The circulation of the blood,
the elaboration of Bap — not to speak of the problems involved in con-
ind plant sensibilityand the functions of nerves — are
illustrations of points in the history of the high animal or plant which
involve problems of well-nip;!) inexpltcabl)

Hence the preraibng tendency in research <>i the kind before us has

been i ..lection of ihi

ground best adapted to yield promising results to thi

inquirer. The lower animal or plant, as we shall presently see,

makes its appear;* i>< In' fore us as a body apparently of extremely

simple structure and nature. Presenting us at the most with the

appearance of a single "ceD," the lower org: hi be thought

hi to scientific scrutiny some clear knowledge of the nature of

the powers which rule its destinies. And nil ppotJUoa might

likewise be presumed t<> . :l ii cfulncw of the

idea that, as the higher animal or plant is but an aggregation of

each representing the single •'cell" of lower life, the study of

the lot mid reveal to us, as by deputy, the secrets of the

ion. But die problem e into con-

i as have just been indicated. The living being in higher

not a mere collection of units, t): on of whi

•dated and mechanically analysed • ondi-

which might well enough bound the discovery of the mechanical

winces of manldnd, are not those which environ the puzzle of

life. And the problem which fan we gate at the coi

organ act as recondite as when,

by ai<: loroscopc. ok through and through

io warrant d>e term
iwed upon it.
nig and be

Concerning Protoplasm.

Although the solution of the problem concerning the nature of
: may be said in some respects, therefore, to have gained but little
»id from researches into the lower worlds of life that people the
nigrum drop — being! which find a home in dimensions which
would hardly have contained even the convenient Angels of the
Schoolmen, whose ability to accommodate themselves within the
limits of the minute IS matter of common knowledge — still the
on of biological knowledge concerning lower organisms has
b«n fraught with importance in certain easily discernible ways. If
»c have not been enabled to shout out " Eureka " to the waiting
races of to-day, we have nevertheless gained some useful ideas re-
garding the true directions in which our difficulties must be attacked.
Tarough the comprehension of what the lowest animals and plants
arc, we have been led to form certain reasonable ideas concerning
what life may be- The knowledge of the conditions required t«
perpetuate the normal existence of living beings, has led us to rccog-
niit, m some measure, the true nature and extent of the problem
tiat awaits the fuller knowledge of coming years for its solution.
let us, therefore, in the first place, endeavour briefly to gain some
adequate ideas concerning the conditions or environments demanded
fcr the exhibition of life in its lowest grades ; since, haply, we
nay find in such a study a clue which may lead us towards the
^demanding, in theory at least, of the nature of the forces which
Ootro! ing organism. One of the first decided steps towards

&s amplification of a theory of life was taken when the living con-
tats of vegetable cells were discovered to present a striking
■ahrity to thr presenting the essentially living part of

At cells of animals. Mulder thus recognised the vegetable "pro-
Bfiastn," as he termed the soft, gelatinous matter of the vegetable
fcfl; and Rcmak in turn described the animal " protoplasm." Nccd-
► to remark that thi ied ;■ • locked up within the

r organism — animal
st— and as constituting the active or vital parts of the living
,Wi latter, closely resembling white of egg

"appearance, which Dujardin had named "sarcode," and of
Itch the bodies of the lowest animals arc entirely composed. Max
ichokVe hail indeed shown that the protoplasm of animals was
Wanically, and microscopical 1> guishablc from that of plants ;

od that bcneaUi the variations of form, and the diversities of life,
icre thus remained a curious uniformity of substance in K
pnww The life and growth of the animal was si ;>end

; bstancc which was apparently identical with that consti-

EC?

420 TIu Gentleman's Magazine.

tuting the living basts of the plant. A curious community of tub-
stance was thus proved to underlie wide and apparently irrcconcil.
able differences of life and habit ; and out of this primary fact grew
new and bolder conceptions of the nature of life than had before
been ventilated by biologists at large.

To appreciate clearly and fully what is implied by the statement
that the substance now widely known :i . | a sine i/u.i

twn for the manifestation of life and vital action, let us emu
few of the aspects in which this substance makes its appearance as
the medium for the exhibition of living actions. It is by no means
unusual to find that y with a name in the abstract imi

total inability to appreciate the concrete aspects of the substance
which the name describes. Despite the widi on of the name

" protoplasm," it is matter of common observation that the MB

Itstancc itself, as well as its qualities and traits, arc frequently
>vn by those to whom the term is as a '• household word."
tlnory itBdy, then, the discussion of protoplasm its:
varied pluses, w ill not be without its value in the determination of its
importance u "the physical basis of life." What pro;
chemically and physically, may be very briefly and readily de-
Dically, it stands as the type of a class of compounds
to which Mulder gave the name of "pfOteUK " substances. Of
lOfifa ■ I, common albumen in white of egg is a familiar cx-

indeed, hardly differs, nve in minute
chemical particulars, bom jrotoplasm itself. Til nee is

resolvable by chemical analysis into the elements carbon, hydrogen,
oxygen, and nitrogen, along with mere traces of nil] phos-

phorus. Physic.illy, protoplasm presents itself as a clear, viscid,
and semifluid substance, often highly granular from the presence
within its substance of fatty or other particles. By immersion in a
carmine solution, dead protoplasm may be stained deeply, whilst
living protoplasm resists all such contact with colour ; and when we
hare added thai e made to contract under electrical

stimulus, and that it coagulates at from <jo° to 500 Cent, we shall
have completed our examination of its readily-observed projterties.

I us now rum to consider some of pectl and

characters. The low-life deeps which it is the province of the micro-

xplore, present us with a suitable starting
inquiries ; and the stagnant pool, or decompose

ling, in its own erratic fashion,
if field* and pasture ,mcnt» of

Concerning Protoplasm. 421

«wd that lie in its miniature path, and presenting us with a
substance which may be paradoxically described as exhibiting every
table form, or as possessing no definite stupe at all, we sec the
animalcule known as the Am<rlm — a form which has had the honourable
distinction of providing the last president of the British Association with
an apt illustration of the discourse in which our great annual scientific
festival was invited to begin its labours anew. Of old, the being in
qutstion, drawn from the stagnant drop and placed under the object-
glass of our microscope, was named the "Proteus-animalcule;" and
its more modern cognomen testifies to the same characteristics of
"Iteration and change described by the Protean simile of former
toys. A mere microscopic speck is the being before us, its size
being measurable only in the hundredths ofon inch. It will require
some diligent looking ere its transparent body be clearly discerned;
for n seems now and then to merge into the water amid which it
lives and moves, and appears frequently to fade away into physical
nothingness, Just as in the sense of its vitality it may be said to hover
on the verge of existence itself. When the eye lights upon the
■'•mieba, and becomes accustomed to the dim outlines it exhibits,
*t «c enabled likewise to note the prevailing characteristic of the
animalcule in the continual tendency to well-marked physical change
and contraction which its body exhibits. At no one period can it be
described as exactly resembling its look or appearance at any previous
*taj;e of existence. Each moment brings new changes of shape and
transmutations of outline, Now, it has launched forth its soft body in
one direction until it appears in a long-drawn-out line; now it has drawn
tk* same body forwards and has protruded its soft substance on each
srfe into so many processes that it resembles some solitary island
•nil capes, headlands, and promontories jutting out in a sea of its
mm. We note an animalcule of it may be higher organisation than
sadfto approach the Amoeba. There is a momentary contact of the
foreign body with the soft protoplasm of the Amoeba, and instantly
tke latter extends its frame outwards so as to encompass the living
particle, *!i hortly engulfed within the contractile mass, and

protoplasm is thus seen to live on protoplasm — a procedure which, by
the way, in higher animal life is exactly repeated and imitated in its
essentia] details. By this process of surrounding and enclosing its
food-particles within its body, our Amoeba obtains its nutriment ; and
oae may well imagine the horror which the appearance of this gelatin-
ous monster, engulfing, like some formless octopus, all that come in
its way, would excite in lower life, were the processes of thought and
ing extant among the animalcular worlds. Thus, also, we

sec

422

The Gentleman's Magazine.

how the Amoeba, like so many of its near neighbours, nourishes itself ic
the absence of a mouth and digestive system ; feels, whilst it vasts
even the first beginnings of nerves ; and moves, despite the fact dm
no organ* of motion are developed. Watch the food-particle tilt
has ju-! been enclosed within the soft frame, and in due timeyw
may perceive a little IpACe t. » surround it,.; rtide werebOBf

separated from the Surrounding protoplasm. Soon, the partklc, if
digestible at ill, will disappear through the solution of its wl«un«;
and vnu will see Et DO more, save for the little Space that reauira
awhile to mark the place where the work of digestion was carried oa
Thus the process of nutrition is subserved by any part of the intent*
of the animalcule's trame, just as, through any part of the body.oV
food, in the absence of a mouth, may he ingested and received.

Nor is it less important to note how the simple acts of sensation ind*
Amceba arc performed similarly by means which appear all inideqatte
for their performance. That which distinguishes the animalcule ao»
conclusively from the great majority of its plant-neighbours is this powr
of receiving sensations, and of acting upon them. But for this po«r,
the animal) ale would be essentially in the position of an inotgiakor
lifeless mass. A solid particle floating about in the miniature «a
whirh contains the Amoeba and its neighbours, impinges upon 6
soft protoplasm Of its body. Upon such a 8tiroi ; rotojdjjm,

as we have seen, contracts, and the food-particle is duly surrounded
and engulfed by the living mass. It may truly lie affirmed that the
first nervous ads are strictly utilitarian in their nature. Their b*
and purport is that of enabling the animalcule to obtain it* feed.
Sensation is thus unquestionably present in this low form of atoasl
life. Indeed, there arc few, if any, naturalists who would not asxntto
the statement that an Amceba, lowly organised as it is, is more hifWj
itive than a tape-worm possessing an organisation of someeon
plexity — or a sacculina, which attaches itself to the bodies of cfiH
and whose only sign of life consists in the slow pulsations of its tag-
like body. Hut this power of receiving sensations is not the oaty
likeness which the Amoeba, in respect of its innervation, exhibits*
higher animal life. Its protoplasm not only receives sensations ; it »
also able to act upon information received. The mere contact of tk«
food-particle with the protoplasmic body is but the prelude to the
contractions of its mass, which arc directed towards the sein*
of nutriment. And thus we become aware of the fact thai not onlj it
this power of " contractility," or of acting upon sensations rec
the distinctive property of protoplasm, but that in such a power Ik
actions of higher life are closely imitated. The nervous phenOBNsa

Concerning Protoplasm. 423

h, when occurring in higher existence, arc collectively named

Ilex action," arc essentially of a kind similar to those acts which

! sec taking place in a body composed of a speck of protoplasm.

is the closest parallelism betwe* •. our acts of withdrawal
ad from a losing our eyelids from the same cause, and

ieaction of the animalcule in ingesting its food. Both hi
lowcrorgj:; ;>ericnce 1 nfand are capable of acting

upon it. Tlie real difference exists in the complexity of the mccl
which respond*, and not in the manner in which the stimulus is

E:hred or the corresponding act performcil.
Summing up the facts which a study of the Amceba has eli ited,
Icam, firstly, th.it a minute speck of the sensitive living matter we
11 protoplasm may of itself constitute a living being, capable per-
fectly of maintaining its existence and its relations with the external
*cdd, and presenting in its life-history many striking analogies with
fife in its higher and more complicated developments. We next sec
simplicity of structure united to a complex physiology or way of life ;
I wc Icam that, even in its simplest and most primitive condition,
1 "protoplasm" of ours may present us, in the endeavour to ex-
its actions and behaviour, with problems whose solution is
lly the despair of many philosophic minds amongst us. If it
lale such minds to see the connection between the molecular
of the human brain-cells and consciousness, the question,
"How doc* a sensation received by the soft protoplasm of 311 Amoeba
Be converted into contraction of that body?" must be regarded
equally unanswerable. Nay, wc may go further, and affirm that
*&£ difficulty of reply arises primarily because of the identity of the
1*0 problems. As wc shall presently sec, both questions involve like
Considerations ; both deal with states of protoplasm ; bodi consider
'he problem of protoplasmic molecules and their movements as re-
lated to actions and motions, exhibiting in higher life the addendum
termed "consciousness" — although whether the latter term may,
after 3 II, be simply a name implying another phase of protoplasmic
motion, is a suggestion worth our consideration. Suffice it to say,
however, that, as yet, there is as much mystery involved in the
Jtion of the movements of an Anueba as in the molecular
play of the brain-cells of a man. And although the admission may
furnish considerations which inveigh against the theory of the evolu-
tion of the higher mind from the lower sensations, the argument is
two-edged after all. If so much that is inexplicable, and apparently
complex, exists within the narrow compass of the animalcule's irrita-
bility, it maybe reasonably said that, of all things, it were most foolish

4=4

The Gentleman's Magazine.

to deny the possibility of these as yet unknown beginnings of nera-
faree having been the forerunners of brain and mind. FJinnuit
these beginnings from view, indeed, and yiv.i will find it hanl oaMT
.aw .1 theory of special anil independent creation, to account fcf At
origin of the mental powers which vcly mark the higktf

animal and the man.

We have, however, been studying but one phase of rxotopbnc
existence, and as such, our knowledge can afford us but little tii
towards the consideration of the wider part which this subsuitt
plays in the phenomena of both animal and vegetable
Selecting the field of plant-life for our next essay on the powers aW
nature of protoplasm, we find in this particular legion abundant proof
that the jk i uli arities of protoplasm are in no wise affected by its forno|
part of the pfont-rfgime. Suppose we study under the microscope the
nature of the protoplasm which is locked up within the " cells* of
such plant-organisms as t?<4arw,Tradescantia, and Vallisncna, or within
the cells comprising the stinging hair of the nettle's leaf. We wr
very readily see that active and incessant motion is the attribaki
the imprisoned living matter of the plant-cells. Ceaseless
of particles agitate the plant- protoplasm, which, but for thcinsidiw
operation of " osmosis," whereby fluids pass in and out of the <
would seem to be literally that out from all participation in oof
or external affairs. The cell of the leaf-hair of TradescantU, I
instance, exhibits an inCCMMH flow of protoplasmic granules 1
steadily in definite direc tions, like the ordered traffic in the streets <
a great city. Stream of protoplasmic currents unites with
and ceaseless mutation of the contents of the cell is the resaft.
the nettle-hair the same phenomenon meets the gaze of the i
scopisL Here we find the same protoplasmic substance lining
woody matter that forms the external wall of the celL
docs this living lining alter and change its shape with wave-like <
tractions of its substance, and the granules which exist in the I
contents of the cell hurry in various directions with the same scori
that we remarked in the cell of Tradcscantia. Wc thus awaken »
the fact that in the seemingly inert and unconscious field of pin*
life, there is activity enough, if we may but fortify our seeing po*e»
with the microscope, and peer awhile into the inner recesses, and in
the nooks and crannies of the vegetable world. Nor may we i
to note in passing that, upon some higher development of thb
protoplasmic sensitiveness and activity than is usual and common i
vegetables, the marked powers of sensation of such plants as the Ve
Flytrap and the Scnsilw* P\aiv\a xuust depend. Locked up

Concerning Protoplasm.

4^5

the hard cell-wall, which, as a rule, it is the business of plant-gmwih
as distinguished from animal-increase to develope, there is little
wonder that wc have come to regard the plant as an organism win. li
feels not, and which is apparently as destitute of all sensation as the
world of inorganic things. But the deeper view of plant-existence
I us the fallacy of the common notion regarding the non-sensi-
tiveness of plants. Their protoplasm is as highly contractile under
■timolol M is that of the animal Conceive of a vegetable cell being
ruptured— as, indeed, takes place in certain phases of lower plant-life,
and we should find escaping therefrom protoplasm II active M 1 1 . . 1 1
of our Amwba, and which, indeed, would comport itself in an exa< tly

r fashion to that animalcule. Consider, for instance, what tikes
place in the multiplication of the lower plant-life that forms " the
green mantle of the stagnant pooL" Here, in due season, the proto-
plasm, found in the interior of the cells of which these green Conferva
of the stagnant pool are composed, will break up into minute parti-
cles, which arc duly discliarged from custody by the rupture of the
cell-wall that formerly imprisoned them. These minute bodies, thus
liberated, are named " zoospores." They flit about in the water, and
exhibit as free and active an existence as the animalcules which
disport tlu am elves side by side with these plant-germs, and they like-
wise exhibit an identity of protoplasmic composition with the lower

:s that people the stagnant depths. After a period spent in this
active existence, the zoospores settle down and grow each into a new
plant resembling that from which it sprang. Or, mayhap, meeting with
OW spore, a more intricate relationship may be induced ; a third
and new body may be produced as the result of that connection ; and
from this new body — foreshadowing the " seed " of the higher plant —
the adult Conferva will in due time grow. Thus we find that, in
addition to the resemblance between the protoplasm of the animal
and that of the plain in respect of apj>earancc in I Idc-D, there

exists a closer likeness still in the common movements which proto-
plasm, whether derived from the animal or the vegetable, exhibits.

It is not Dtcetsvy dad wc should dwell upon other examples of
the marked irritability of protoplasm in lower plant-life to demon-
strate the community of phenomena which this substance is every-
where seen to exhibit in its simple and primitive condition. The life-
history of the commonest seaweed that fringes the rocks, would show
phenomena of similar kind, and would convince us that power of
motion, by common consent the exclusive right and property of the
animal, is rathcT to be viewed as a quality of the protoplasm which
forms the living parts of both scries of organisms. For, like many of

426

The Gtntlamns Magazine.

its lower neighbours, the seaweed begins its existence as a
speck of protoplasm that possesses from nature a roving i
and swims about freely in its native waters by means of cilia, ot
meats, resembling those by which the animalcules propel thct&sehts.
Ultimately this roving life is abandoned for the stay-at-home exist-
ence of the mature seaweed, which in due course arise* by
growth and protoplasmic multiplication from the once active
Whether studied in the lower animal or in the plant, protoplast
is thus seen to possess essentially the same qualities and pi
wlm h distinguish it primarily as living matter. It rena
seen whether the examination of higher animal life will dev-

logics and similarities which are so plainly apparent in the I
confines of the kingdoms of living nature.

In its complex entirety, the body of a man appears to pretest 1
with no features of structural kind which can serve in
degree to approximate the higher type to lower forms and i
life. Organ and parts in S] I series more Of less

rated, constitute the framework of the body, whose physiology *
functional activity is in turn of a correspondingly intricate i
The simplest tissue of man's frame would, at firs: sight, appear M
sent a complexity defying reconciliation with any simpler |
structure or life. What is true of the human type may lw held I
equally correct when applied to the case of much lower
which appear to be far enough removed in their own way from
primitive simplicity of the protoplasmic Amccba and its allies,
snail or a worm, at first sight, appears, in fact, to be as distant I
the protoplasmic and primitive stage of organisation as man
in that they arc built up of organs exhibiting a cotnp
structure and highly-specialised arrangement of parts,
case, what are the likenesses or differences between the
lower organisms whiih tin scientific examination of the
frame reveals ? Let anatomy and physiology together furnish the I

The microscopic anatomy of the tissues of which man* body <
sists, reveals to us a fundamental unity of organisation, which is I
striking and important in all its particulars and aspects,
primer of physiology teaches us the lesson that man's body, like '
frames of all other animals above the rank of the Amccba
nearest kith and kin, consists of definite layers of minute u
grouped together to form the definite " tissues ' of the bod;
speak of the skin, for instance, we arc merely indicating a
microscopic cells. When we speak of brain-tissue we arc again I
coursing of cells ; and. bone itself, in its essential and living |

Concern itsg Protoplast*. 427

true CC ue. In the human body, it is true, there arc mnsiul.it

tendon fibres, and other structures of like nature .

■ut ili.it the presence of these !

lot invalidate his pi onccrning the

universal cellular composition of tri I ■< some of tin.- I

of the body- o*i fbi irec of muscle by means of

which we move, or those of the crystalline lens ol the eye can he

shown to be fo r tly from cells by the ion or modifiea

tion of the latter , whilst the gTOWtl I ol ill fibres take

the production of new cell ft may he

assumed as an axiom of physiology th.it the bbdii c4 all animals,
man included, are formed of cells, which become differentiated to
form cellular tissues in the one case, or '.till further modified to form
in the other.

li information, all-important as it undoubtedly is. leaves us,
however, on the mere confines of our physiological and anatOTJ
Study 1 Po understand dearly the relations of

the primitive pTOtoplasmic animalcule with the "'lord of creation "
himselfi it is needful to pay a little 1 to some further details

.1 study. Suppose that we examine under the
icopeatrau ection of bone. In such research we shall

•ly light U] 11 facts of interest &S Assisting our corn; i.

•it of the U implicated organism

in nature. A 1 rots section of bone shows us (hat the apparently solid

tissue is everywhere perforated by the minute "canals," to which

Qopfon Havers gave bis name, and w in and irotect the

. t nourish the bone. Each Haversian canal ol bone li

seen to be surrounded I bony matter, and

are minute! it found to < ore isl

of elongated spaces, called "lacu; d at im, enrols,

and which communicate with each other by minute processes 1 aDed

" canaliculi." Imagine a central lake to be surrounded by • in let ol

smaller lakes, ti ommunicating with each other by a complex

series of bfi risers, and a fair idea will be gained W ;

it of the minute elcii I bone. In a

1 parts i^ not altered from that dis-
The bloodvessels ministering to the
i>onc tiavi already mentioned.

, however, led by a minute mass of

light be compared to an
and the protoplasm of one lacuna sends out minute pro-
cesses of its substam.e along the communicating channels already

ccssc

428

Tlu GentUmaris Magazine.

alluded tO, and thus communicates with the living matter of I
neighbouring spaces. So that, could we obtain a perfect view of I
lning protoplasm of a bone, we should find that, when removed froi
the lacuna;, these living parts would appear before us as a i
scries of Amcuba-likc masses of protoplasm, adhering togethc
minute processes just described, and roughly reproducing tor w t
form and outline of the bone. These masses of protoplasm art I
"cells" of the bone on which depends the life, nourishment. J
general welfare of that structure. And we thus leam the curious I
that the most solid and enduring tissue of our body, in iu i
nature, represents a collection of Amceba-likc masses of
absolutely indistinguishable, be it also remarked in nature from !
similar matter which moves and gropes in the gutters of our ho
or in the stagnant pools. As the plant-cell imprisons its ]
within a thick cell-wall, so our bone-cells in like manner forn><
skeleton by their special manner of growth and development,
it requires no great depth of thought to perceive the similarity of I
elements of the human tissue to those which constitute the essenti
of lower life at large.

Not less striking arc the revelations which research into
fundamental structure of the nervous system displays. Ne
and ncrvc-fibrcs together comprise the body's telegraph system, I
fibres of nerves being instinctively formed like other fibres of the 1
from cells. The nerve-cell has come to be fully recognised as that ;
of the nervous mechanism which produces and evolves nerve fo:
that subtlest of life's forces, now seen to be represented tn i
movement of a limb, and now in the impassioned utterances of t
The nerve-fibre simply carries and distributes the nerve-force, |
ated by the cells, but possesses on its own account no
evolving the characteristic force that in varied fashions raV
wide universe of human life and of lower existence as well,
the structure of the brain anil spinal cord, as the two chief I
centres of the body, is examined, both cells and fibres are found I
entO into their composition ; but the cells alone exist in these]
such as the grey or external layer of the brain— in which nerve*
is evolved. Nerve-cells vary in sue and shape. They may
simple or complex in form, and range from the round or
the branched and irregular in form. Some of the "multipoli
nerve-cells — as those possessing a plurality of processes arc i
might well enough suggest to the imaginative mind a rescmb
Amosba in shape, as they of a certainty are related to that .
in the protoplasmic rature of their contents and struct i

Concerning Protoplasm.

429

ntiil element in the nerve-cell is protoplasm, pure and simple ;
ioditfinguishable in its chemistry and histology from the substance
rhkh we discern in the animalcule or in the bonc-cclL Whatever
natal powers are exhibited by man, or by animals which possess a
hnin ot nerve centres of any kind, are the direct products of the
sme-encrgy stowed up within the cells of the nerve-centres ; and as
we have seen, protoplasm constitutes the essential materia of these
eelk That differences of function, wide and apparent, exist between
the protoplasm of the bone-cell and that of the nerve-cell need not
en alluded to as a fact of primary significance when considering
the physiology of these varied organs. But sufficient for our present
purpose is the still broader fact which demonstrates the community
of protoplasm as the one living essential of the human frame, whether
concerned in the work of forming bone, secreting bile, producing
DOTcment, or evolving thought. Thus it remains a stable fact of
human existence that on the qualities and properties of the proto-
plasm or riving contents of cells, depend all the actions and the total
activity and individuality of our lives. It is by means of protoplasm
dot the cells of the liver secrete bile ; it is through the properties of
protoplasm producing new cells, that a scratch heals or other breach
cf bodily continuity is repaired ; and it is by means of a peculiar
factional development of this same substance, that we are enabled
"lo lay the flattering unction to our souls " in that we are the possessors
of mind, intelligence, and will.

Ii might also be shown, as one of the most curious facts of physi-
objry, that we harbour in our arteries and veins thousands of proto-
plasmic specks which, when viewed under the microscope, behave as do
rentable Amoebae. Such are the "white corpuscles " of the blood,
may be seen to undergo mutations of form strictly comparable
b the changes of shape that give to the Amceba its characteristic
Upcct.and which. '.Iterations, from this resemblance, have been named
"amoeboid "' by the physiologist. Enough has already been said of
the structural comjwsition of the human body to show that it derives
its bring activity from the protoplasm which is everywhere scattered
throughout its tissues, and which represents the typical living centre
of each cell or tissue in which it occurs. But the case for the univer-
sality of protoplasm, as the true and only medium by which life is
exhibited, increases in importance when the early outlines and fore-
casts of development arc even briefly chronicled. The nearer we
approach the primitive condition of living organisms, the more
apparent docs the similarity between the earliest stages of all
organism* become. An Amoeba gives origin to new animalcules by

43°

T/te Gentleman s Magazine.

simply dividing its body in two, when each half swims away a
independent being, to begin life on its own account Here, thetii
;m absolute and necessary identity of substance between the pro-
ducer ami the produced. But even in higher grades of life, «het
the process of development is by BO means so simply carried nut u
in Amoeba, there a ft wonderful similarity between the mdrridaJ
germs of higher animals as well M between tuch germs and thci&A
and permanent -t.v;i •- ■ >' animalcular life. No anatomist coold fea-
ture, for instance, to express an opinion as to the identity of the
germs of the highest class of animals. A protoplasmic germ, pee-
ing essentially the same structure and appearance as that of tie
< li >;; and sheep, gives origin to man himself; and the stages of dcreop
ment which evolve the one are strictly comparable in all save there)
latest to those that produce the other. Thus man arises froo i
germ of protoplasm measuring about the one hundred and twefittd
put of an inch in diameter, the material substance of which uanot
be distinguished by any microscopic or chemical tests from tilt
whirl. ed to give origin to his canine (Head, or from tfci; d

which the shapeless frame of the Uric lndeed,&e

eggs and germs of many animals are strictly Vmosbo-likc in ihaf
nature and motions. The genu of a sponge creeps about within tke
parent organism in a fashion i "om the familii

animalcule ; and there are zoophytes and other animals whose
exhibit the same exact Amoeba-like appearance which
white blood-coqwscles wince. It is thus •' plain fan that wh
complexities of body or of mind we find exhibited in the
world, arise from like matter and similar substance. Trut
equally with the monad and the conferva, owes his origin to a |
plasmic germ, in which are contained all the potentialities and |
abilities of his after development, is no piece of scientific romana;
but demonstrable truth. Protoplasm begins our life, as it conDWH
that existence for us ; and in this respect the Amoeba may he re-
garded as the tyi>e of all living things, or, like the famous frccbooea
of the ballad, as veritable " lord of all " that Uvea.

The universality of protoplasm as the basis of life may be held
fully proved. Apart from the . life

unknown to exist. It is seen constituting the
of animals and plants, from bale audi

cule, triton and minnow. I pine and the lichen, each and J

owe to protoplasm their primary-. ad the pov i nuA

their varied lives. As !>r. Allman pu it addnsi to

the British Association, " We arc thus led to the conception of I

Concent ittg Protoplasm. 4 3 x

unity in ihc two great kingdoms of organic nature— a struc-
tural unity in the fact that every living being has protoplasm as the
essential matter of ever)- living clement of its structure, and a physio-
logical unity in the universal attribute of irritability which has its seat
in this same protoplasm, and is the prime mover in every phenomenon
of life. We have seen," continues Dr. Allman, "how little mere
form ha* to do with the essential eplastn. This

may shape itself into cells, and the cells may combine into organs in
ever- increasing complexity, and protoplasm force may thus be in-
tensified, and, by the mechanism of organisation, turned to the bell
■it ; but wt must still go back to protoplasm as a
naked, formless ; 1 we would find, freed from all non-essential

complications, the agent to which has been assigned the duty of build-
ing up structure, and of transforming the energy of lifeless matter into
that of living."

How much nearer to the great question of the origin and nature
of life do such considerations lead us? is a justifiable query which
faces us at the close of these inquiries, as it formed the keynote with
brief stuc. mystery of living and being.

It cannot be doubted that the research of recent years has at least
brought us nearer to our real difficulties than before. It counts for
something in B subject like the present that even the boundaries of
our knowledge and the environments of our ignorance should be
dearly perceived ; and this much, at least, the inquiries concern-
ing protoplasm have accomplished. We now know that at last we
are face to face with the final stage in the question before us — that
the puzzles of protoplasm constitute the one mystery of life. To

1 decision every fact of recent research seems to lead.

knowledge that there is not one life of the animal and anothet exkteflOG

of the plant, but that both lives are really a I their essential

us directly to regard proto-
and 1. as the repositories of the secret of life's

One 0 v.liieb merits special remark in con-

nection with the subject of protoplasm and its relations to life
exists in the apparent truism that all forms of protoplasm, bo»>
ever alike in appearance and composition science may and doe*
ne them to be, arc not identical in their potei
• not, in other words, all posses: owers of becoming

cfc which remains an Amoeba has no
-om its substance a higher form of life. The
•>f a seaweed is a seaweed still, despit-
imilarity 10 other or higher forms The germ of the

or the

nature

an tin

432

The Gentleman s Magazine.

sponge, again, remains possessed of the powers whi< h can commit
into a sponge alone. And the difference between such protopfanc
specks and the germ which is destined to evolve the human hat
can only be declared as of immense extent, and as equalling in their
nature the wide structural and functional distinctions we draw betrat
the sponge and the man. Of such differences in the inherent naiat
of protoplasm under different conditions we are as yet in complflc
ignorance. Their elucidation is really the explanation of heredity a
the law of likeness. The mystery why family face and lama.
along with even habits and gestures, should be rigidly and perfcctlr
transmitted from parent to offspring, really includes the puuie whkh
besets the real differences between one speck of protoplasm ai
another and apparently similar speck.

But our want of knowledge of such points may not leave uittowkd
the primary question concerning the nature of life, to which all the pro-
perties and qualities of protoplasm, all the varied forms and faces of
living beings, are due. On the contrary, it is possible by analog I
arrive at some broad views concerning the nature of life at
and to such considerations wc may now shortly attend. Phy
points out to us that the properties of protoplasm and all its |
of being and becoming arc resident within its own substance, and J
dependent upon the energy of which it is the scat. Supply appi
conditions, and the forces of the protoplasm will convert the
germ into the form of its progenitor. There is a transformation i
force and matter of one kind, into force and matter of another '.
therein involved. Such facts point to material powers and
resident in, and peculiar to, protoplasm as the seat and prime i
of the changes and developments that substance undergoes. As <
too, docs the transmission of turental likeness from generanon in
generation argue for the existence of some material and physical
basis f»r the carriage, by the protoplasm-germ, of the features of i
species. And if so much be admitted, it seems illogical to deny 1
whatever properties the protoplasm of germ or adult cxhit::
strictly speaking, upon the chemical and physical properties of I
substance. Thus we approach the idea that this mysterious
which no one has yet successfully defined— for the plain reason I
the terms of the definition are unknown — simply represents the i
total of the energies of the physical, chemical, and other propcrtieK
protoplasm Nowhere do wc find life dissociated from ;
and this fact alone argues in favour of the view, that the " rial fa
fthe scientist and the " vital spark " of the poet is in each case i
convenient summary expression of the higher form of i

Concerning Protoplasm. 433

which corresponds to no one force in nature, but to all com-
bined. If this hypothesis be deemed essentially materialistic —
as unquestionably it will be from certain points of view — its sup-
porters have a distinct coign of vantage in a simple and logi< ,il
appeal to the facts and phenomena of naturcand life as they stand. In
addition to the pregnant fact just mentioned, namely, that life requires
for its exhibition a material basis seen in protoplasm, the mere con-
siderations that this substance il < .imposed of no unknown elements,
but of well-defined and common substances, tad that its composition
is not ethereal but material, lUppOft the view that life is no mysterious
aura, but a collocation of the forces and energies and of the material
substances which make protoplasm. Life D a property of proto-
plasm— such is the latent product " Ik thought and research.
The forces which make protopl regarded as those which make
life 1 and although the exact relationship of these forces is as yet
unknown, analogy leads us to believe that they are not materially
different, if they are different at all, from those which have made the
world of inorganic matter what 11 k It is analogy, too, whi h

b us that certain forces produce, under in ition, very

different results from those which they exert when acting in separate

array. The relationship and correlation of the physical forces not

merely teems with examples of such resulte, but leadl us to think of

live possibility and probability that life remains a mystery to u* simply

the terms under which its component forces are combi

unknown. In any case, we require to postulate a " lifc-

" of one kind or another ; and it remains for us to choose

between the "vital force" of former decades of biology— a term

committing itself to no explanation of vital phenomena whatever—

and the idea that in die properties of protoplasm we find the true

nature of !

analogy rests not here. An extension of thought! like the
foregoing leadl us towards the world of inorgae with the

view of inquiring whether there exist :n. g < mhih< tions

between that life! 1 the living world which d

protoplasm as its un: mi. The forces which act upon

the lifeless world arc those which also affect animals and phu
but the latter are enabled to retist, alter, and modify the acttOfl oi
these forces in greater or led degree, whiUt lifeksi matter exists and

acted upon without response. Other* I • r. the phi

of the inor;- demarcation from the

phases of life, may be regarded as presenting us with many facts
of origin as inexplicable as those exhibited by living beings. It has
no. 178$. r v

UvejK

becan
are at

(br e '

ii^H

434

The Gentleman s Magazine.

well been remarked that the growth of the crystal taking place
virtue of physical laws to attain an exact and unvarying farm, b u
mysterious as the growth of the tree, and that common salt staid
crystallise in the form of the cube is as profound a mystery at
that an acorn should become an oak, or another protoplasmic germ
evolve the human form. If we are to assume that the forces
which rule the world of life arc inexplicable simply because they tit
living forces, it might equally well be maintained that the itwrgiaic
world and its ways should be the subjects of similar mysticism. \v
more rational, because more likely to be true, arc the ideas which W
us to note in the living world the highest term to which matter atr
attain. As the living world is dependent on the non-living for its
support, as we arc both in the earth and of the earth, so miy«*
conceive that the forces which mould the world, which disperse Ae
waters and rule the clouds, have contributed in their highest w»
festations to combine matter into its most subtle combinations a the
form of the animal and in the guise of the plant Huxley's wdl I
are worth weighing when he says : — "It mutt not be supposed tid
the differences between living and nonliving matter arc such as»
bear out the assumption that the forces at work in the one ax
different from those which are to be met with in the other. Ctts-
sidercd apart from the phenomena of consciousness, the phenomeM
of life are all dependent upon the working of the same physical mi
chemical forces as those which arc active in the rest of the weM.
It may be convenient to use the terms ' vitality ' and * vital :
denote the causes of certain great groups of natural operations, as at
employ the names of ' electricity ' and ' electrical force ' to dew*
others ; but it ceases to be proper to do so, if such a name itnrfe dfcj
absurd assumption that either * electricity ' or ' vitality ' are enoicl
playing the |iart of efficient causes of electrical and vital pbcoosseos.
A mass of living protoplasm is simply a molecular machine of pelt
complexity, the total results of the working of which, or its vital phe-
nomena, depend, on the one hand, upon its construction, and »
the other upon the energy supplied to it ; and. to speak of '
as anything but the name of a series of opt rati as if one

talk of the 'horologity' of a i lock."

Although research has not placed the puzzle of life and its
tion at our feet, our inquiries have at least served to mdicati
direction in which modern scientific faith is slowly hut surely
The search after a material cause for phenomena, formerly
as thoroughly occult or supernatural in origin, is not a feature
to life-science alone ; and such a characteristic of modern

Concerning Pro topi.

435

indicates with sufficient clearness the fact, that, as biology and physics
become more intimately connected, the explanations of the phe-
nomena of life will rest more and more firmly upon a purely ph
and appreciable basis. That life has had a distinct beginning upon
this earth's surface is proved by astronomical and geological de-
ductions. That life appeared on this world's surface not in its
present fulness, but in an order leading from simple forms to those
of an ever-increasing complexity, is an inference which geology
proves, and the study of animal and plant development fully sup-
ports. That the first traces of life existed in the form of protoplasmic
germs, represented to-day by the lowest of animal and plant forms —
or rather by those organisms occupying the debatcable territory
between the animal and plant worlds — is well-nigh H warrantable
a supposition as any of the preceding. And last of all, that these

first traces of protoplasm were formed by the intercalation of new
combinations of the matter and force already and previously existing
in the universe, is no mere unsupported speculation, but one to which
chemistry and physics lend a willing countenance. Living beings
depend on the outer world for the means of subsistence to-day. Is
it more wonderful or less logical to conceive that, at the beginning,
the living worlds derived their substance and their energy wholly
from the same source? The affirmative answer seems to be that
which science tends to supply, with the qualification that, once intro-
duced into the universe, living matter is capable of indefinite self-re-
production, without necessitating any appeal for aid, by way of fresh
" creation " of protoplasm, to the inorganic world. As Dr. Allman has
remarked, it is certain " that ever)- living creature, from the simplest
dweller on the confines of organisation up to the mightiest and most
complex organism, has its origin in pre-existent living nutter that
the protoplasm of today is but the continuation of the protoplasm
of other ages, handed down to us through periods of indefinable and
indeterminable time." The harmony inferences. With the

doctrine of evolution is manifest. The common origin of animal and
vegetable life, and the further unity of nature involved fa the id)
the living worlds arc in reality the outcome of the lifeless past, cor>
stitute thoughts which leave no break in the harmony of creation.
" There is grandeur," to quote Darwin's words, " in this view of life,"
which, win lie demands of scientific faith, leaves behind

it no doubt of the existence, at the source of law, of a controlling,
reeling Mind.

436

The Gentleman '$ Magazine.

TROUT-FISHING IN SUTHERLAND-
SHIRE.

BEFORE the gTeat exodus of English sportsmen to the
in August, their brethren of the rod have migrated i
in large numbers. From February, indeed, when Loch Tar cube
fished and divers early rivers open, a steady influx of salmon-lutoi
sets in to the Scotch straths, month by month, according to the tint
when their favourite rivers come into fishing order. These brip »
maintain during a dull time the great tourist hotels of Perth wi
Inverness, which hope for a more abundant harvest later is tit
season. Hut as a rule the early salmon-fishers do not make abcf
stay in the country. The cheerless weather which too often fireraih
in the north during spring, and the numerous floods, when the I
arc " owcr drumlic and wunn.i fush," necessitating much confineaxst
to the house and a large consumption of tobacco, soon wear cut it*
enthusiasm of all but the most devoted fishermen. With Jme,
however, and still more with July, the English fly-fishers begiew
flor.k to Scotland. The spectacle presented by the stations ikef
the r ilro.ids of South and Mid Scotland, where every second tut
on the platforms is equipped with rod and basket, wams them»|
urtber afield. Indeed, the marvel is how a single troutlmg tat
parts survives the combined attacks made upon them, and a I
docs not contemplate the fishermen with an exalted idea of I

i. In the great nn<l watery county of Suthcrlandshirc, !
arc red lochs and myriads of trout. The merest tiro ot t

craft need not despair ir. its Klysian plains of finding excellent spa
As tl»at good man and famous angler Sir H. Wotton was met'
say that he would rather live one Ma) than twenty December*, <
»c would rather fish a fortnight in Suthctlandshire than x
elsewhere, weighty though the assertion be in these > lays of i
work and limited holidays. The north of Scotland offers
less sul leasura to the naturalist, the artist, and the nua<

cultivated mind. If die angler can ever be supposed capable I
rj high treason to his craft as to be tired of throwing h» if, '
eaa in Suthcrlandshirc ax one* \wr. VI many other delightful i

Trout-fishing in SutJurlandsh; 437

pations. The late centenarian Canon Readon wa» a fisherman until
he was eighty-eight years of age. It would not surprise us to be
told that he rejuvenated bi untocr by Rimmec amidst the

mountains of Sutherland

There are Mo routes, each with its own attractions, open to
those who form i»rt of the annual influx of fishermen to Sttthei
lire. Steamers "ill take the angler from Glasgow to Loch
Invcr, through the islands of the west coast of Scotland, among
scenes endeared to the last generation by the "Lord of the Isle./
and fast being rendered familiar to readers of the present day by
Mr. Black's delightful novels. Everyone who is able to
an idle day or two on board ship among congenial companioi
prospects of changeful beauty will choose this mode >>i reax lung his

rite lochs. Its only drawback is that somewhat DM
consumed by it, and a bad sailor may find the swell oil the Mull of
Cantircor that setting into the Minch too much for his inner man's
composure. In fun however, the sail down

by the purple short- ol Bute ind Arr.m. past Jura into beautiful
Loch Linnhe, studded with Scathe, BJentra, ami the Great Garden

>hr), to say nothing of the Sound of Mull, with old castles
perched on every commanding point, the craggy wastes of Ardna-
ban, and the strange contrast presented by the verdant curve of
Armidaic I lay in Skvo, is a charming prelude to the bappini
Wore for him in Sutherlandshirc. The frowning rocks of Rossshire
running up to its dark and mist-capped mountains, and ever I
with the Atlantic surf, are a fitting introduction to the Laurel
rocks of Sutlicrlandshirc, the oldest in the world. From Loch Invcr
the angler may choose two or three roads leading inland, each one
beset by a benilderin;.; throng of lochs of all sizes, but sh&O
free, almost all abounding in trout, such as Ixichs Veyattie, Fewin,
Beannoch, Awe, Assynt, and the like. The alternative route is from
Perth by the Highland Rafhfty to Inverness and Lairg, whence
. again may lie procured to lajch Shin and the chain of lakes
ig from it to the Atlantic — Lochs Griam, Mcrkland, More, and

-to another Loch Bcannoch, and to the great lochs of the
most northern division of Sutlicrlandshirc — Lochs Laygh.il, '
and a multitude more. This route also possesses considerable
beauty and interest, leading live angler through the Grampians to the
watershed of Scotland, the Pass of Drumrudrochct, by the Cairn-
gorms (like the Grampians, clothed in snow this year in July), into
tlic fertile " laigh of Moray," and so by the sea scenery of the
Moray, Cromarty, and Dornoch Firtlis, to Bonar Bridge. Th

438

nvr»rf*« n

The Gentleman's Magasim.

rciy nor
perhaps

-'"

mode of going north is perhaps to take the sea voyage one way
return by the railroad. The little fishing inns scattered here
there through the country, each at the head of its own loch, soon fill
with anglers as June passes on. Inchnadamph, Altnagcallagoch,
Altnaharra, Overscaig, Rhiconni'ch, and many more offer each its
peculiar attractions. Many a lonely lake and unfrequented valley
sees " machines " driven along its edge with anglers and their wives
seeking the little bay wheTe the lwat lies. Gillies, keepers, shep-
herds, and the sparse population of the province are delighted to
view English faces once more ; their honest kindly natures expand
before the genial greetings of the Sassenach* like sea anemones
before the returning tide. Every conveyance is crammed ; kitchen
chimneys arc in full blast ; it is emphatically the season in these
remote parts of the kingdom, and all because of one fish — the trout
The general weight of the trout in most of the open lochs of
Suthcrlandshire may be put down at a third of a pound Every no*
and then a fish of three-quarters or even a pound will be tak i
at rare intervals one much bigger. In some of the reserved
such as Ixtclis Craggie and Dowla, they are much larger,
averaging two 01 even ODe to the pound But an angler would be
much mistaken who should estimate the sport likely to tie afforded by
fish running at three to the pound, with weaklings of the same sue i
an English stream. These arc much more vigorous, as befits
northern ancestry, are dressed in more brilliant colours, and fr<
having another chance for escape, the extreme depth of most :
lochs, fight for life with far more activity than many an English
twice their size But the above arc the dimensions to be cxptcte
by fly fishers. Of course trolling is open to fishermen, and then 1
the natural bait or with phantom minnows, fish of two, three pounds, <
more are not uncommon, while the salmo ferox in such lakes as
possess this monster, which owns the jaws of a pike as well as the
strength and activity of a trout, may be caught up to 15 or 16 lbs.
We say may be caught, but an enthusiast would probably require to
troll many weeks before he would luckily take one of such a siae.
Still, small ftnttt running even to nine pounds are far from un-
common, and on a dull heavy day the angler should in roost lakes
be able to secure two or three of these. An occasional salmon, too,
may be found in such lochs as communicate with the sea. What
Suthcrlandshire trout lack in the matter of weight is abundantly
compensated by their numbers (sixty, eighty, or even a hundred a
day being no unusual take), and by their vigorous resistance. Id
evciy " bum " running into the lochs, hundreds of trout the length of

Trout-fishing in SuiherlaitdsfUre.

439

the middle finger may be caught, together with an occasional
puriiich of a pound or more, which has chosen a deep pool, and for
months remorselessly slaughtered his smaller kith and kin within it.
In &ct. no better place for catching a large trout can be recom-
mended to anglers than the sullen pool just above the embouchure
of such a mountain burn into the loch. It is generally fringed with
low scrub and birch -trees, and if the angler wait for a breeze ruffling
the waters under this fringe, and then drop a March brown of large
tile faced with gold tinsel into them, he will not often be dis-
appointed of his prey. All these brown trout, little or big, arc alike
firm and pinky in colour when they leave the hands of the chtf, and
cacemore confront their taker at the breakfast-table.

At that meal mutton and trout, excellent milk and butter, and

•ves will make their appearance. Porridge, too, may be had by

t admirers: but wc notice that iHobc who patronise and cry it up as

'. best meal on which to take violent exercise, generally eat as much of

r dishes after it as those who arc insensible to its attractions.

, a scene of great bustle, gillies and masters, the host and

servants, together with all the hangers-on of the establishment,

; in front of the inn to make preparations for a start The hall

» lettered with rods, landing-nets, flasks, reels, fly-books, gaffs, tic,

Ac Constant demands are made for whisky and sandwiches to be

Uken with the different parties for lunch. A " machine " or two.

etch drawn by a couple of shaggy ponies, draw up for those who arc

to fish lochs (Qocwhat distant from home. These are rapidly filled

»ith masters ar.il gillies, baskets and rugs (for the air is sure to be

keen when returning even in a July evening), and with many a

joke and considcr.ibii- btatCTi I ig.irsarc lit, the "machines" drive off,

Ifld those who are to walk to their stations also start with their

tqwptncnts. Not much can be done from the shores of the lochs.

The fish cither lie just beyond casting distance, or the breeze only

raffles the central waters of the loch, owing to banks and bushes.

The angler, too, is tolerably certain to lose many flies, and the most

pertinacious good temper is liable to be ruined by the hooks

catching these obstacles. Therefore it is better to employ a gilly to

Mr him, and then, by keeping the head of the boat some thirty yards

fcoa the shore and casting towards it, abundance of fish may be

taken. It is of little or no use to fish in deep water. But little

fead can be found there, and the salmo J'erox loves to lie in a

utLHtion where it shelves into shallow water. It is curious amid the

gay scenery, only broken by the bright tints of the wild-flowers, to

nod the trout at these lochs rising most freely to gay-coloured lures.

440 The Gentlanaris Magazine.

No fly, save some of the gorgeously painted insects of the tropics,
.it -ill resembles the wonderful creatures which the tackle-makers of
Inverness and Dunkcld supply for the capture of Suthcrlandshirc
trout, and we can testify that they arc correct in their selection.
Sober flies may kill at times, but bright green, red, yellow, and purple
bodies laced with gold or silver tinsel, with wings of mallard or
still better of teal, are always taken with eagerness. The best way
of fishing a Sutherlandshirc loch is to troll down it for two or
three miles, then to take to the fly-rod, and again to troll on the way
home. Uy this mode on a fortunate day the angler can generally
secure three or four large fish and several dozens of smaller trout.

Whenever he feels inclined, the angler can land for a midday rest
of half-an-hour. A picturesque island may be chosen, or a wooi I
knoll running into the loch, and here the gilly, having secured the
boat, retires to cat his lunch and smoke his pipe apart from his
roaster, who takes his biscuit or sandwich, and considerably lessens
the quantity of whisky in his flask. It is singular to find the man
who at home seldom or never torn lies spirits drinking, in this strong
air and after vigorous exercise, not merely whisky, but whisky
undashed by water. It is the safest plan in any country to adopt the
beremge drink by its inhabitants, and through the nort md

there can be no question what this is. It is just as well, before
reclining on a tuft of soft heather, to make certain that no adder In I
unilcriH.uli it, for these reptiles arc very common in many parts of
the country. We have never heard of a fatal case to man after one
of their lutes. Inn the shepherds and gillies give horrifying descrip-
tions of sheep and dogs being attacked by them < the former generally
lag bitten on the nose, as the fleece elsewhere baffles them;, which
then speedily turn black and die ; but close cross-examination will
throw much doubt also on ti ies. They rvmll

of old myths res|>C' . i and serpent-worsl cd,

adders arc called "serpents' to t;, Sntherta&dshbt.

mosquitoes nay be dreaded with more reason. They are often in
hot weather very annoying, and when se< ^g» " or

gadflies, effectually murder repose near the water.

On commencing to fish again it will l*c found that the trout cease
to rise about bal&past three or four o'clock in ftp] ho most

groundless manner. Atmospheric conditions most probably would
explain the anomaly, but there is nothing pen i nan

senses which can «cc< lalf or three-quarters of an

hour th. igorously, but i ;<ast

they kv. Sherman most probably remwn-

Trout-fishing in Sutherlandshire. 441

bets dinner, and that he i$ perhaps several miles distant from the inn.
Luck.il>, Sutherlandshire cooks are never discomposed at whatever
lime a fisherman returns for that indispensable meal. A chef would
commit suicide under half the provocation. Dinner may or may
not be ordered, as it happens, but this is well understood to be
merely a form, just as a Scotch waiter invariably asks a guest at night
at what hour he would wish to be called next morning, and as inv;iri-
ably forgets next morning to call him at all. But at whatever hour
the angler returns, at seven, eight, nine, or even ten, dinner appears,
Mid moreover a good dinner — soup, fish, meat, and puddings— as
won as he has washed his hands and is ready for it This greatly
adds to the pleasure of staying at a Sutherlandshire inn, which
affords a man the extreme of liberty, together with no uncomfortable
knowledge that he must be punctual or some one's feelings may be
hurt, and much bail temper and sulkiness thereby engendered. Un-
pnnctuality is here the rule with visitors, and it is marvellous how
skilfully the authorities of the kitchen provide for it There is sure
to be a merry set of anglers at the door beside the fishing-rods and
baskets as the different parties arrive, and news of success or mishaps
•« given and received : how A lost a grand ferox when the gilly was
actually stretching out his hand with the gaff, or B has taken a fine
taknon, or C has fallen out of the boat, and D been botanizing and
talking Gaelic to a shepherd's daughter. Over the usual mutton and
troatof the meal the full measure of the day's hopes and regrets is re-
capitulated with much laughter and many a good story. Such a meal
reminds an unhappy tourist who has found his way to the inn without
bring an angler, of Sir Roger de Coverley's dinner-party, when Will
Wimble formed one of the guests — for the particulars of which the
leader may be referred to the Spectator— as its constant refrain of flies,
1 and^rjw must be maddening to such an unsympathetic listener,
dinner many pipes are smoked in the amber twilight peculiar to
indshire. while the mountains around gradually catch the last
kering sunlights, and then sink into gloom, successive shades of
ptrple, and, losing their outlines in mist, finally melt into the ambrosial
tight of these regions. After a cup of tea for those who like it, a
battle of whisky is sent into the kitchen, it may be, for the gillies, a
jiper or fiddler induced to play reels, and a hastily improvised ball
got up, which is none the less enjoyed by the dancers because there
has been little time for anticipation. A signal brings Sandy, the
shepherd, in his boat across the loch, together with Elspcth, his
beanie daughter ; the forester and one or two more arrive unex-
pectedly, and the two or three daughters of the house (who form

442

The Gentleman's Magazine.

, nit

almost the only Mies) are in great request as partners. Periups
some of the younger guests in the inn join the party, and loud uA
furious waxes the merriment, culminating in the shouts of the High-
land Fling, which is sure to be given by the gillies with good effect
It is to be hoped that Sandy, after kicking oft* his shoes " to dance
better whateffer," does not go home " fou " toward* one o'clock, awl
it is tolerably certain that more than one of the gillies will be found
by their employers next day lying down at the edge of the loch and
drinking such unconscionable draughts that they have to be cautioned
not to drink it dry. On another night Highland games will be
extemporised, visitors, foresters, and gillies trying their strength
together at " putting the stanc," or the "caber," plenty of the former
lying everywhere on the moor outside the little enclosure of the inn.
In default of these amusements, fishing and shooting anecdotes,
accompanied with whisky and tobacco, go on in the sitting-rota
until long after midnight, when tired anglers find their way to their
well-earned slumbers, and all is quiet till the whimbrel, with btr
young ones, flying round and round the house at early mom 1
their wild whistlings, rouse all for another day nf healthy acti

It is just as well to warn confiding anglers intending in
future year to visit this " Paradise of fishermen " as the Guide |
with curious infelicity terms Suthcrlandshirc, that a rainy day
county docs sometimes occur, and that one is generally followed I
a train of them. Then the whole country assumes a limp
aspect You cannot see three yards from the windows on account 1
the mists and rain. The moor is like a sponge, the only solid parti
consisting of the big boulders with which it is littered, as if nature <
kindly supply stepping-stones for such weather. Vertical lines
flashing white seen through mists rising from what might be :
caldrons tell where the face of every mountain round is cleft \
cataracts. The roads, such as they arc, resemble Arabian tva£s,i
forming convenient watercourses. However a person wraps I
up, he comes home wet and dispirited, once more to begin the 1
of tobacco-smoking and tapping the barometer. It ia
cheerful peat fire within prove a comforter. But too often in
storms the chimney also takes to smoking. Opening one |
probably makes it worse ; opening the second simply infuriates it 1
sends volumes of smoke into the room. Of course the door is
thrown open as well, with still more deplorable results. Tears 1
down everyone's checks till they rush to the windows for
Finally it is discovered that only when the second window and I
door arc open together will the fire burn even tolerably. The 1

Trottt-fishing in Sutherlandshire. 443

of sitting in a room under such conditions may be faintly
imagined, but let no one think that he knows Sutherlandshire until
he has faced the ordeal. The forced inactivity of the gillies is a great
aggravation of wet weather. Morn by morn they salute the impatient
angler waiting for the river to clear — "She wunna fush the day what-
.-.nd as for :n ir.ir the loch in such a downpour they could not
suppose that such a thing would enter anyone's head.

Scarcely inferior to its angling are the secondary pleasures of a trip
to Sutherlandshire. After the crowding, bustle, and heat of common
life, the fresh breezes, wild solitudes, and cool airs of the North bring
an exquisite sense of rest to the world-wearied spirit. The inllm mi I
of much o|>en air ami a modicum of whisky soon tell upon health and
appetite, and he who came a languid victim of civil: eedily

finds the whole tone of mind and body strung and braced lor the
keen enjoyment of the present and a hopeful discharge Of duty when
he returns to work. Paradox though it sound, one great delight of
this district is the infrequent arrival and despatch of the post. Tele-
grams arc fortunately next to in faapowibility in the more retired
parts of the county. Every sensible angler will order letters and busi-
ness troubles to be left at home until he returns Such expatriation is
productive of nothing but comfort ; half the letters have answered
themselves, he will find on his return; good news is all the more plea-
sant when it welcomes a man home, and as for bad news, it is always
useless to meet it half-way. A wife or sister may be commissioned
once a week to send tidings of home matters, but an embargo should
be laid on any further news. As for politics, a man can escape thcru
altogether by ordering no newspapers, save perhaps a weekly journal
of sport and another of literary triti<>-m, to be forwarded to him.
What few Scotch newspapers he may light OpOB in the wastes of
Sutherlandshire will soon repd him should he attempt to peruse thetu
by their local quarrels, their inflUK religious bigotry, and especially
ty. By these expedients a man will enjoy leisure to
the full in Sutherlandshi

Another charming pursuit to which the angler can tum when
with his favourite art is botany. He will find everywhere on
the moorland plants of a northern but not an arctic type. These
latter must be climbed lor ; but with Ben Hcc, Ben More, C
and their brethren close at hand, there is no lack of their habitats.
On the open moor, beside its grasses, heath, and sedges, grow the
fragrant myricn, the sundews, cotton-grasses, bedstraws, milkworts,
and the like, lighting up the duller gTey and yellow tints of the
mosses and boulders, In the rifts of the mountains and down the

444 The Gentleman's Magazine.

ravines which have been cut by the " I; Iter stunted bushes

of birch and masses of ferns, hay-fern, dttopttrit, oak, l>eecli, and ilie
rest of them. The stumps of firs, the gnarled roots of primeval
forests, the half-petrified branches smothered in the peat-hags, con-
front the botanist with some of the most interesting question* that
touch his craft — the relations of the present to long-distant floras,
and the causes which led to their extinction. Folklore has of course
been busy with these remains — the bones, as it were, of that long-
perished forest of ancient Caledonia. Foregather with a shepherd
on the hills, and he will tell marvelious stories about them. Over
these crags and cairns yet nimble the wild cat, the marten, and the
badger. Higher up on the mountain pastures and corrics the red
deer stray as of old, while the golden eagle, the corhy, and many
• ml; ;ind hawks tly overhead, to say nothing of the black-backed
gulls and red and black-necked divers of the lochs, the oyster-catchers,
whimbrels. and other waders which abound by the rivers. The
ornithologist is thus sure to find many rare and curious birds which
he cannot well observe elsewhere. The osprcy is nearly if not quite
extinct io Sutherlandshire, but is yet preserved in some localities of
Rossshirc. If a man have any tendencies towards natural history,
iI-.lv may be easily gratified anywhere in this county. But the artist
and lover of tine scenery will see much at every turn to compensate
him for the |iains he has taken to come so far north. Exquisite
prospects for sketching occur everywhere, with a foreground of crag
oi moorland, a loch in the middle distance, and a peak, a
blue hills, or a huge purple Ottfl of mountain behind all. Or he may
seek the coast and revel in sea-scenery of the grandest ; pcedp
stacks, and reefs, ever assaulted by the Atlantic, and haunted, espe-
cially in the breeding season, by myriads of sea-fowl. Nor is there
wanting store of softer subjects — the shepherd's shieling under the
crest of the hill, beside which the burn sparkles downwards to the
the row of decrepit cottages, their weather-beaten roofs of
j>eat, tied down with ropes of straw, looking picturesque at a dis-
tance, but of ill-savour when closely approached ; the collies and
sheep, the Highland ponies by the patch of oats
gypsies' cart, with fowls roosting on its sides ; these, and a mu'-'
more such themes, will challenge the painters skill. Hut it ■
lengthy task to recapitulate the pleasures which a sojourn
landshire will afford. It will suffice to say that cw\
is fund of rough life, with all its healthful accessories, will
litis county to perfection. Ji ll ihc best of the summer

months for sport, taken all in all ; but August u

Trout-fishing in Sutherlandshire. 445

trout as a bonne bouche for the end of the season. The only
rback to autumnal fishing is the increased chilliness and the
mess of the evenings. At length in test vohitur annus, and the
vthen turns his steps to the South — we cannot say like the swal-
far swallows are very few and far between in Sutherlandshire.
he will bear away with him many pleasant memories to sweeten
kaday life, and act as fuel to his settled determination again
int its lochs and mountains on the very first excuse for a summer
day.

M. G. WATKINS.

The GenHcmans Magazine.

THE DRAMA OF CERVANTES.

DRYDRN, in the defence of the epilogue of one of lis on
plays, says some very severe things about those of ate
people. Not only does he find fault alike with the subject ok
speech of the comedies of Fletcher and Ben Jonson, but opeilj
declares it his opinion that many even of Shakespeare's pUp «
" either grounded on impossibilities, or at least so meanly writw,
that the comedy neither causes your mirth nor the serious pan job
concernment." This opinion has not been generally enclosed ty
posterity. Yet Dryden was a man of no inferior critical intelligent,
and had probably studied without prejudice the pieces of which he
disapproves. It has been the unfortunate fate of the drama of
Cervantes to be abused by many, in those general terms whicn
ignorance or prejudice is most likely to suggest These speaks
calhedrA on the subject with such authority as die fact of new
having read a line of it can alone bestow. They maintain tht
justice of their words with the obstinacy which always accotnpukf
weakness of judgment. But their wholesale censure of Certaias
will be accepted by few who care to inquire into the nutter ft
themselves, as few, after reading them, have subscribed
condemnation of "Love's Labour Lost" and the " Winter's Tale.'

One of the chief counts in the indictment of Cervantes
dramatist is that ancient one of neglect of the unities. Now, ia l
conversation between the Canon of Toledo and the Curate
Perea in " Don Quixote." Cervantes himself inveighs against i
comedies of his time, whether historical or romantic, as
without any regard to the rules of art. A child in swaddling-i
he complains, becomes in the interval between a couple of
bearded adult, and a comedy in four acts carries the spectator I
the tour quarters of the globe. Such attention was paid »
doctrine of the unities of time and place. Nor was the unity of i
in any greater esteem. What wonder, then, he says, thai
plays arc mere absurdities, matter without head or ml ; not
plays ought to be, the mirror of life, but the mirror of Wlr, lie
image of license more than the image of truth. As Cervantes'*"

comedies arc notoriously involved in this same condemnation,
i ingenious Spanish editor has maintained that he wrote them for
piredjes of dramatic, just as he wrote his great work for a parody of
chiralric literature. But it is more probable that Cervantes relaxed
the stiffness of his sentiments with regard to the unities, or, if not,
« least discovered, as many others have done, that a play is a
mercantile commodity, that managers set no little value on vulgar
opinion ; and that they are accustomed to pay the author only for
pieces of such a sort as is admired by the people. Nor was
Cerrantcs one who could afford to prefer fame from the educated
few, to money from the uneducated many. He wrote mainly to
satisfy his hunger, and so the astonished reader finds the same man,
the sake of those unities, went so far as to propose a stage
.transporting his hero, in his play of the " Prosperous Bully,"
Jing of an eye, from Seville to Mexico, and introducing
nphs in bizarre costume, one labelled Comedy the other
Curiosity, to apologize for this part of the action. "Why," asks the
1 have you discarded the sock and the buskin, and all the
old rules relating to the unities?" "Times," replies Comedy,
circumstances," and thereupon enters into a long and learned
nee of her conduct, which would have the effect, if carried out, of
niching all the unities alike. Litde recked Cervantes, when he wrote
| of the estimation of other nations, who, as he says in " Don
held the Spaniards for their offences in this particular to be
Dt barbarians. Not, indeed, that the nation which admires the
Pinter's Talc" as well as the "Tempest," can afford to throw its
ir stone. It lies not in its mouth to contend that almost
one of Cervantes' comedies is a caput lupinum. Nor is there
^ing more absurd in the worst of these than the Pyrrhic dance
i which it pleased Charles Kcan to introduce his revival of what
! called one of Shakespeare's finest productions. Thus much for the
Cervantes voluntarily disregarded them. He sacrificed
to popularity, and forms one of an illustrious band in
10, Other counts in the indictment against him touch upon
lisms. But our admiration of Lear is not materially lessened
i Edgar's allusion to the Bedlam beggars, nor would it be wise to
: our suffrage in favour of Hamlet, owing to Ophelia's coach
: peal of ordnance shot off at the conclusion. Many, moreover,
Cervantes' anachronisms are exceedingly amusing, and were
intended by the author. The count which refers to the
i and extravagance of such speeches as happen to be connected
with love and honour may be charged against every old Spanish

448 The Gentleman's Magazine.

play. Love sublimated into lengthy and unintelligible expression
is one of the chief characteristics of the ancient dramatic school of
Castile ; and in the matter of honour we find nothing so repulsive
as the speech of that high-minded cabalttro, in the famous comedy
of Caldcron, who goes to the nuptial altar a second time with
hands yet red from bleeding his first wife to death.

Perhaps the only count which may be considered proven is that
win. h charges Cervantes with inelegance as a poet The- common
consent of his countrymen seems to allow that he was no versincT.
Naturally his desire of making verses was in direct proportion to his
metrical inaptitude. The fetters of rhyme cramped his genius, and if
cvct nature, good sense, and moderation desert him, it is when an
exacting audience demands of him tercets or rcdondillas, a quatrain
or a sonnet. Unhappily, these were demanded all too frequently.
In the famous comedy — all Spanish comedies, by tlic way, are
famous — of " The House of Jealousy and the Woods of Aid
a sonnet is the occasion of the following piece of metaphysical theo-
logy, put with a happy propriety into the mouth of one of the peers
of Charlemagne. Rinaldo speaks thus in hendecosytlabics : —
M Either love is deficient in knowledge or excessive in cruelty, ....
but if love is God, it •• I proof He can be ignorant of nothing, nor

• :i.l lc to suppose God crueL Who, then, ordi
fearful grief I feel and [adore ? It cannot be Angelica, so great ill
cannot be in so great good. No ! Heaven sends me not this ruin.
A sudden death is my sole resource ; it is .1 d :ind a med

for a disease of which the cause is unknown"

Cervantes wrote at two periods of his life dramatic pieces. In the
first period, that of his middle age, he composed some twenty or thirty

lies, of which none remain but "The Numancia" and
Trade of Algiers." Among those that arc lost "The Naval Battle "
and "The Confu<<d Lady" appear to have been his 1
The latter, he says with engaging modesty, is good ai best

of all comedies of cape and sword. His second period of dramatic
IgorpubJi a little before his death. Al :erval

Of thirty years, retiring, as he tells us, 1 rL-, he pro-

duced ci^' I tntrtmtut, or interludes, usually

represented between of the longer plays. Anodic •

entitled "The Two Talkers," was pul r his death. There

arc, accordingly, nil IfiUnatK pieces which now rem >

represent the theatre (if Cervantes. In the dedication of his second
dramatic 1 ! speaks of his comedies ironically as ni 1

pawed by the players, who, from pore discretion, care only for the

The Drama of Cervantes. 449

great works of eminent lunds, albeit, he adds, in their acceptance of
these they sometimes make a mistake. And in his Preface to the
Reader he gives a succinct view of the progress of the Spanish stage.
The first who stripped comedies of their swaddling-clothes,
clothing tlu-iii with glory and honour, set them in their chair of Kite,
was, according to Cervantes, one Lope de Run' •! beater of

Seville. This author especially excelled in pastoral compositions.
Little, if anything, did his fame owe to dreSS, properties, or other
scenic accessory. The whole paraphernalia of ■ theatre in his days
were pocked up in a single bag. Haifa do/ . :ds' jackets of

white sheep-skins, with the wool still on them, garnished here and
there with gilt leather, half a dozen beards, as many wigs and crooks,
and nothing more. The plays themselves were little else than
eclogues, or conversations between a shepherd and a couple of shep-
herdesses. Not ft! contrivances were known to the audience
of Lope de Rueda, no combats of Moors and Christians, either on
foot or horseback. No dark figure then rose, or seemed to D W \ Ottt
of the very bowels of the earth into the centre of the stage: no cloud
dropped from hi deo with angels in white raiment, or the
spirits of the blessed dead. The stage was nothing more than a few
planks raised on square stools a y.ir. 1 from the ground. Its only
furniture was an old blanket drawn from one part of it to another
by a couple of strings. This funned the vestry, or green room,
and also served to conceal the orchestra, who sang without accom-
paniment some simple romance, lope de Rueda died and was
uricd, as a man who had deserved well of all the lovers of the
in his country, in the [glesifl Mayor of ( lurdova. After him
came Naharro of Toledo, whose leading charade! was 1h.1t of a
cowardly bully. He it was who changed the property-bag into a
COOple of trunks, and discovered the musicians to a grateful public.
He it was who robbed the actors of their beards, which they had
always worn before his time, and exposed them to the people without
defence of jurapet or embrasure. He it was who introduced such
echanicat appliances as clouds and thunder and lightning, and
eaten; u.nce with batteries and assault;. " Still," says
Cervantes, with the wonted diffidence of his age, " still, tin
was not reached until I produced my' Trade of Algiers,' my ' Destruction

aiancia,' and my 'Naval battle.'" Lope, in hi- ' N
Making Comedies/' says that tin- remarkable genius, Capt.
first reduced to three acts plays which forme 1 1 like

dj and that the Marquis de Villena, a writer of the atuty,

luced allege B»H '■

450

The Gentleman s Magazine.

botfa these honours for himself. " 1," he says, in so rainy i
" fart reduced comedies from five to three acts. I first i
in these the hidden thoughts of the soul, and with general appbntt
set on the stage characters having some relation to the moral conAJd
1 1| I iu-." He adds a negative proof of their merit in the assertion thtt
not one of them all met with an oblation of cucumbers or other minita:
every MM MB its appointed course without hisses, groans, or cat -raUt
Cervantes' second batch of comedies was not received w
favourably— WtX not, in fact, received at alL During these thirty
years the day-star of the great Lope had arisen, and mi
now bathing the whole of the Spanish theatrical world in m
sparkling radiance. Not a manager inquired after Cervantes a
his comedies. " They did not come to seek me," he says in i*
Adjunta al Fantaso, " and 1 did not go to seek them,
their own poets, their paniaguados, their particular frie
parasites whom they support, and succeeding with these, seek |
better bread than wheatcn." In a word, he found no bird
nests of thirty years ago. So the unhappy comedies were cast i
coffer, consecrated and condemned to everlasting silence.
probably, they would have remained, had not some good-i
friend on one occasion said, th.u though you might obtain i
ment from Cervantes" prose, nothing was to be hoped for torn I
verse. Upon this hint the author at once published them, ob
in their defence that cither his own intelligence must have i
decayed, or the age changed considerably for the better, comnryl
the proverb which always praises the good old time.

1 I he Numancia" is the only tragedy written by Gemotes,
is comprised in four acts, and is mainly historical. l'1-.r jutboH
indifferent to history only when he can increase the inter*
drama or elevate the glory of the ancestors of his people by his <
imagination. Florus, for instance, tells us that the numbcT of Ro
engaged in the siege was forty thousand, of the Numantians only I
Cervantes says the besieged were three thousand and the
eighty. So the length of the siege, in Strabo eight yean and i
Florus fourteen, is extended into sixteen by Cervantes. The i
of the play is considerably enhanced by the love-scenes of Lin I
Morandro, and by the introduction of Marquino the ne
for both of which circumstances, it is scarcely necessary to
there is n evidence.

The tragedy commences with a reproof administered ;
the Roman general, to his soldiers. In a speech of more than a 3
dred lines he censures as many soldiers as can be got together |

The Drama of Ccrvam 451

tbe Mage. This is the direction of the author, who invariably shows
him to the influence of spectacular concomitants. The

Roman general bids theni leave the low and light desires of women
and of wine. One cup is enough for drinking, one fascine
sufticien !. No soldier is to cany a cooking utensil, or to

snv 1 but pitch. All this agrees with Florus, s<orta ailona

jiircintc nisi ad tisum nttessariir ampulanlur. Dtsf>:
the S]»t 11 m, dot mil ramtras. Thus, in the words of Mon-

tesquieu, // la prive de tout tt qui les arait amellii. Thus he restored

; his men to work in the 1 , he made

try stakes if they would not carry standards, and stained
them with mud if not v. ith blood. Scipio determine* to cut the roots
of the courage of his foe by a siege. The first act concludes with
the appearance of a girl crowned with towers and holding a castle
—an allusion, of course, to the 1 Arms of Castile — in her

hand, who beseeches the River Ducro, which bathes the walls of
Nununtia, for aid. The river rises in its turn, but suggests no

iedy. It, however, prophi sies, with the assistance of Proteus, the
reversal of ■' and the Goths, and the mag-

nani- icnls of Philip II.

In the second act il is resolved, in a council of the Numantians, to

hare recourse to divine help. Enter, according to stage directions, a

sacrificial sheep, led by a couple of priests, or holy butchers, as Dryden

calls them, a page with a silver basin and towel, another with a silver

•her with a silver v.. mother with incense, another

h fire and wood, and so on ; in fact, all the tbvmaUt ftrtona that can
be spared arc to come on the stage in the dress of Numantian citizens.
The sacrifice is accompanied with evil omens. The torches will not
!. A noise underneath the scaffolding, made with a barrel full of
stones, indicates thunder ; a blading meteor is represented by the
hargc of a sky-rocket. Nor is this all. Half a demon rises up
a centre trap, and takes the victim from the very hands of the priest
Recourse is had to Marquino, the necromancer. He enti
rounded with several magic appl nd commences to raise a

recently-buried body from the dead. This scene resembles the

■■ h Erichtho for Scxius, in lutein's " Pharsal
The same unwillingness to return to lif ressed by the Nu-

mantian as by the Latin ghost:

lnrisaquc clauitra timentcni

r<juino in his adjum the King of Hell with a rj

■ e which is generally supposed to be confined to this world. He

nn t

452

Tlie Gentleman's Magazine.

calls him traitor .spouse of a spouse who for half the year is
without him, and hints, with a reference to the horns of the
that that interval is not employed to his honour. The corpse con-
tinues sullenly silent, until the sorcerer whips it into words. Trait
prophesies evil, and falls back into the grave, whither Marquiao hi
pet pitches himself after it. All this was intended, no doubt, by tit
author for serious business, but it verges on comedy, and is
unworthy of the buskin.

In the third act the Numantians resolve, as a last resource.!
burning their valuables in a common bonfire, to destroy th
Before this, however, they cut up the Roman prisoners and
them. Mariana says they ate their own dead also; but Cervantes 1
avoided this eircumstaaee of additional horror. It seems, I
in accordance with historical fact. Lira is dying for want of food, I
lover Morandro determines to seek it in the enemy's camp,
unparalleled dangers he returns in the fourth act, wounded tot
death, with a morsel of bloody biscuit. Lira, the lyre which i
so sweetly to her lover's fancy, kisses the blood, but ir
refuses to devour the biscuit. They both die. Women die, i
die, children die, everybody dies by hunger or the sword, ex
youth who, having taken refuge in a tower, tells Scipio he shall
lead a single Numantian in triumph, and concludes by throwing 1
self from the top of it- Other character* in the piece are War, i
Sickness and Famine, both in yellow masks, and Sickness
ing on a crutch, with her head hound up in a napkin. F«
appears at the end to declare the glory of the Numantians i
their descendants in .Spain. Of the Romans there is very little I
in the whole play. Schlegel <1> in it a dominating ideal

destiny and a Spartan pathos. It certainly approaches, perhaps I
frequently, the simplicity of the Greek drama. It is written i
in octaves and redondillas, or dimeter trochaic*, with rhraes i
the extreme and mean lines, as in "In Mcmoriam." I:
in patriotic patter, reminding the rcadcT in this re»]>ect of that I
tedious of plays the " Cinna " of Comcillc. Some of its ado
.-. blegeL speak of it as a fearful and imposing picture pointed'
blood and tears. No modem audience would have patience to 1
to such long speeches as arc made, for example, by Scijsoi
the River Ducro. It is, indeed, about as proper for the stage
" Choephorce " of sEschylus.

" The Trade," or Manner of Life, " in Algiers," in five acts, w
written soon after the author's return thence from slavery, and asn
tended to inspire a steal for the redemption of captives from the

id snafu
thcMoaa

The Drama of Cervantes. 453

as the " Numancia," probably, to provoke patriotism, that last refuge,
according to our famous lexicographer, of a scoundrel The plot of
the j>lay is one of involved affections. Izuf and Zara arc the Moorish
proprietors of the Spaniards Aurelio and Silvia, an engaged couple.
Of this pair the souls arc blended in such a way as scarcely to be
separated by the winding-sheet. Izuf is in love with Silvia, and cm-
ploys Aurelio as his intercessor to obtain her favour. Zara is in love
with Aurelio, and employs Silvia for a like end. Aurelio undertakes
to shorten the sail of Silvia's chastity, and Silvia promises the subjec-
tion of Aurelio. This plot was copied by Ix>pe in his "Captive of
Algiers," with the customary alter.m.in ot

himself repeated it in the " Banos dc Argcl," and the reader of his
novels will find it largely resemble his " Liberal Low.* In the first
act Aurelio is introduced, informing us in redondillas that his soul is
fettered by his Christian mistress, his body by his Moorish master.
Zara makes love to him with all the impassioned ardour of a married
woman. He objects to her the difference of their creeds. "A fig
for Mahomet ! " says that matron, " if only you will be mine.'*
Thereupon Aurelio supplicates the assistance of the Heavenly I
and the Virgin in very tedious octaves. In the second act is ■
pretty scene between Izuf and Silvia, in which he compares the white
lich hides her divine loveliness to the snow which conceals
on a wintry day the light of heaven. Aurelio utters some 1
in monologue respecting the golden age, the age without meum 01
luum, which remind us of Don Quixote's harangue to the goat-
herds, after he had satisfied his desire for eating and drinking. In
this act Fatima, a ttnfidanlc of '/...-. . ours to assist that l.uly

i aining Aurclio's affection, though in her opinion the dog is
about as much acquainted with loi ass with a lyre. How-

ever, being a bit of a sorceress, she makes a waxen image of him, as
Simoelha of Dclpliis in Theocritus, to burn the frozen Christian,
and on a suitable occasion, when Night is driving her starry car
through the central skies, Fatima, with hair dishevelled, her right foot
bare, and her face turned towards the sea and the sunset, with five
reeds cut in the light of a full moon, and arranged in magic ordcT,
with certain heads of African serpents slain in turomer time, with a

t regnant stones taken from an eagle's cyry, and other trifles

suggestive of the contents of the witches' cauldron on the 1
heath of Forres, raises the devil. 1 I politely laments that all

her labour is in vai 1 the Christian heart cannot be hurt by

y, but offers to send Occasion and Necessity to help her all
they can. The scene in which these appear is excellently conducted.

454

The Gentleman's Magazine.

Aurclio echoes their words, as though git-tog utterance solely to
the suggestions of his own imagination. " Your shoes arc shabbr,''
whispers Necessity. " My shoes arc shabby," says Aurclio. * Vox
shirt is dirty," whispers Necessity. "My shin is dirty, ' says Aurtth-
Then Occasion steps in, and lingers for him to get a good hold os
her forelock, but all is idle. Aurclio determines to Kvc and & *
Christian. Soon after, die two Christian lovers are found by W
and Zara, in the act of embracing one another. They had p>
viously agreed to deceive the Moors, and now, with a promptitude of
lying which suggests considerable practice, declare that their embnw
is only the result of joy they both feel on having obtained tree one
another a consent to the desires of their respective proprietors. Per-
haps the only gleam of comedy, as we understand it, in this old $?••
nish comedy lightens our countenances here, where Iruf isanaoB
to punish nobody but Aurclio, while his wife persists that Siivuakot
is guilty. The play ends with the arrival of i >toria

character, who ransomed Cervantes, with the price of rwleajtiai
of the captives of the story, and several others. The concluding aw
arc formed of prayers and thanksgivings uttered by these tapttro
numbered first, second, and so on, like the gentlemen of Shakcspcst.
Several episodes occur in this play, but they are not neatly doretaW
into the chief action, as is of course desirable. They are as distad
as the two plots in " The Spanish Friar," which, according to Dt
Johnson, so admirably coalesce. Cervantes was either incapable o
careless of such coincidence as marks "The Merchant of Venice." .U
the accessories, however, tend to support the moral end of the dnan.
the redemption of the Christian slaves, of which wc arc tnfunned i
this play itself there were some fifteen thousand For instance. »
slave-market is introduced, where, after a trial of the slaves, in nA
some of the circumstances remind us of G<5r6mc's Alarehi tEat***
a mother, with an tmbarazo or incumbrance in the way of a baby rata
arms, Is m panted from her son. This youth is presented in »h1*
scene calling himself Soliman, a convert to Mahometan ism ; is*
exact words of the author, he has given his soul to Satan. A »pk*4*
Moorish dress in which he appears, and some delicate uriemalt*
cstibles, seem to have been the cause of this disastrous conveni*
Another episode is that of a slave who has run away, turiaj p*
viously furnished himself with three pairs of shoes, ten pooadi •
bread, and a species of pastry of great sustaining power, nadf '
Hour, eggs, and honey. But his foot swells, his raiment wire* oK
and his bread mouldy ; his legs arc torn with briers and thorns, h
this extremity he commits \v».\\body and soul to the charge*/ «•

Cap

Th< Ua. 455

Lady of Monscrrate, and lies down to sleep under a bosh. Comes a
lion, and lies down beside him. Here is Spenser's story of Una. The
lion sent by the Virgin leads him out « Lucre is also in

this play the relation of the burning of Brother Miguel de Aranda,
upon which unlucky priest, Father Ahcdo in his history of Algid
us, the Moors took satisfaction for the many murders of their country-
men by the Inquisition. They Mem to have cooked the ecclesiastic
artistically. They desired their lamb thoroughly roasted, says tin
comedy, and were not content with a scorched surface and all the
rest raw. Otlier relations of Christian suffering, of which it is to be
remembered Cervantes might have been an eye-witness, together with
pious advice and religious disquisitions, complete the play. Saavcdra
or Cervantes is himself one of the characters, and is engaged in
demonstrating ,h . slave the danger of a temporary •

to the Mussulman faith, to which thai slave was inclin | own

convenience. Saavcdra quotes a text of Scripture to show that
such conduct is highly to be condemned. He adds to the text
many pious but painfully monotonous observations concerning true
repentance. He divides it into three parts, for all the world like a
modem p:irson — essential parts, without which it is altogether vain

ntect The fir* part is the contrition of the heart, t!

com the mouth, and the third the satisfaction of works.

xcforc he that professes himself contrite, like some renegade

Christians, and yet with his lips and in his actior | and

Bis saints. .... and so un for a couple of columns, until we feci

Italian lay, who, I -ice given him of

the galleys or GukciardinJ, chose the latter, but went off willingly
to the galleys as soon as he retched the l'isan wars,
wearisome homilies are not, unhappily, infrequent in the plays of
Cervantes ; they are doubtless instructive as a Directory or the
Court Calendar, a Bradshaw, or the Statutes at Large, but, ma
an exceptional class of intellect, they are not cnicitaining.

comedy of the " Bafios dc Argel l: may be first considered
as, among Cervantes' later i omedie -, IJDC e it contains the same subject
repeats some ol the chief incidents in, " The Trade of Algiers."
The word /»'..• I lervantes, speaking with the moutli of U»c

itory in " Don Qub (he Turl a- for

the prison ot house in which l iptives, both of the king and

Ofpch enclosed." It is, however, difficult to find

bk any word resembling Bano bearing the sig-
nification which Cemntoi supposed that word to possess. The
main inter. in comedy is the same as tliat of the Story in

456

The Gentleman's Magazine.

" Don Quixote" — the love for a Christian slave of a Moorish udr
who has been instructed by her nurse in the Christian faith. In tk
comedy, as in the story, we sec the long cane, with the linen bundk
containing coins attached to it, projecting from the window like i
loophole in the wall, covered with close lattice-work. The leas
which the Moorish lady sends is almost word for word the sane ; the
same arc the minor events, the same is the conclusion. The tuna,
however, arc cliangcd. Zora, in the play, takes the place of Zoradt
in the novel ; and in the latter, as in " The Trade of Algiers,'' thse
is mention of Saavedra, who appears not in the "Bancs."
there are many witty allusions which are found only in the dram
As, for example, when the bundle is opened, and eleven gcfcJea
crowns with one doubloon are discovered, I.ope, the beloved Chnaav
.says the solitary doubloon is the Paternoster of the Rosary: which, i»
the opinion of his companion, is a very proper comjiaruon. Fa-
couraged by this approval, I. ope compares the whole gift to heaved'
manna, for, quoth he, Habakkuk has brought us in this priwn U
ours :i basket of something better than pottage. The allusion is, of
course, to the dinner intended for llabakkuk's reapers in a 6eid of
Judxa, which was brought through the air to Daniel in the lion's den
by that distinguished prophet of Jewry, of whose whole history there
arc so many and so sadly conflicting accounts. The main subject
of " The Trade of Algiers " forms an episode in the " Bafios." Iwf
and Zara, Silvia and Aurclio act their several parts ovct again, ook
with other names, as Drydcn's Montezuma appears again
manxot in the "Conquest of Granada," and Lyndaraxa is hut the
Almcria 0f the " Indian limpcror."

To compensate for the child converted to Islamism, we haw i
Christian child crucified. By the simple device of drawing s eurun,
the chief scenic appendage in the time of Shakespeare and Cervantes,
this boy is represented to his father full of agony, and die public nil
of admiration, bound to a post ai .1 with blood. He

been before introduced playing with a spinning-top, to show
extreme innocence of spirit. Another Christian youth is beatca
rhat his masters consider malingering ; another has had his cats
off; another is implied, not indeed ceram pvpulo, for to Uiis tuk
Cervantes jwys great regard, directing even those slain in batik la
fall in the Vatttarw, or behind the scenes. Before his last vktaa
or enters, as the Spaniards say, for punishment, he venture* ca
an ambitious conceit For such earthly impalement he will obtain
a heavenly pall. Some provocation, however, existed for these
Jings on the part of the Moorish masters. One Christian,

The Drama of Cervantes. 457

lor instance, in this curious comedy murders a Moor in conse-
quence of a slight disagreement ; another, a Sacristan, roundly calls
Mahomet hUtputa, an expressive term of Castilian contempt.
And this conduct was the lew ttCCUMble, inasmuch as the
Christians had liberty to perform th I rites. In this very play

the last act is concerned with a celebration of liastcr. Not the least
interesting part of the " Uanos " arc the scenes between that profane
Sacristan and a Jew. The treatment of this Jew, who is nameless,
will remind the reader of that of " The Merchant of Venice." It is
instructive to consider how tenderly religious zeal can foster the best
sentiments of the human heart. " Is not this a Jew?" asks one of
the characters. " Ay," answers the Sacristan, " you can easily
sec it by his infamous slippers and his poor wretched face." The
Sacristan happens to be bearing a barrel of water at the time, and
cries " Halloa ! you Jew, hail I "

Jm. Whit would you, O Christian i

Sue. Carry me this cask into my roaster's house.

Jew. It is the Sabbath, and on that day I can do no work. No, not if jfOO
kill me for it. To-morrow I will carry two hundred.

St*. Dog of a Jew I To-morrow I take a holiday. Away with it, and no

note •■•

Jen.: Though ; i^, I cannot cany il.

Sat. God's life, dog : I'll tear OOI yemr liver.

Jew. Ah, well away ! I am poor and mUeraulc. I.ct It snlKec, O t 'lm-.iian !
good Christian '. that I would bear it, by the blessed Cod ! would, were it not our
Sabbath day.

The reader will understand that the Sacristan has no right of any
kim! to the labour of the Jew. On the second occasion of the Jew's
appearance the Sacristan has stolen from him a Murcian delicacy,
which the dictionary of the Spanish Academy defines as a curded
tart made in a posnet, of cheese, rasped bread, madapplcs, honey,
and other matters, reminding the reader by its many ingredients of
that mystic and polysyllabic compound in the " Ecclesiazusac " of
Aristophanes, which is politely offered by the first half of the chorus
to the second. The unhappy Jew had cooked this dish for himself
on the day preceding his Sabbath, and had nothing else to cat,
neither was able to cook aught else in accordance with his law. The
honest Sacristan will not let it go without payment. Finally, he
Ukei fifteen reals from the legal proprietor, five for the present dish
and ten for two others of which he intends to rob him in the future.
He treats him, in short, very much in the same way as V
Hastings treated Cheytc Sing. The Jew appears for the but time
before the Cadi to complain that the Sacristan has stolen his child.
The Jew obtains his child, but has to pay forty otptros to the

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Sacristan for the Litter's loss of time in robbing the Jew of *h
excellent church official cliaritably, and with his wonted piety.
his hideputa.

The comedy has many sudden changes of place, which at
somewhat confusing, as there is no notice of them by any diram
of scenes. They were probably signi6cd to the audience, as «
Shakespeare's stage, by advertisements on a black board, seeh «
" This is Alters." " This is Spain." There are, however, no* rf
those allegorical characters which have been noticed in the focao
plays, and which Cervantes imagined he was the first to introdm.
He entertained, the reader will remember, a similar idea abort k»
novels. The only remaining features of interest in the " Baoot'or
an extraordinary appearance in the heavens of a Christian araadr,
caused by the refraction of the sun's rays in the clouds, which fes*
to the slaughter of some thirty Christian captives, and an attaint »
escape, perhaps tried by Cervantes himself, on a raft of small tnxfh>
supported by several large calabashes, the (c velf kauf,

the mainmast, ms :um-s s^WWhtd <»'t at yards, supporting cmea'
old shirts suspended between them foe a sail.

Another drama, coloured by the author's own experience*
captive, and (bunded, it is affirmed, on a true story, is tlut of
" Grand Sultana." Cathalina de Ovicdo, a Spanish lady ti-
the Moon at an early age, and a contemporary of Cervantes, a aid
to have attained this dignity. According to the popular tradStiaa «
becomes a Mussulman, but the dramatist, careless of probabUkr, a»d
studying only stag: HI have her remain a Christian. Hciws

never founded such another in its crucible. Slu -fits*.

half-open rose set in a walled garden; fair as a daybreak full of one*
pearl; fair as the myriad rcflectioi westering sun. TbcSdas

himself— whom she turns into a tame snake— describes her as acn
elegant than an April morning; enamelling, enlightening, and a*

Idering the meadows, and giving a golden glory to the *«^
Nature robbed everything of its best at her birth, and so set her N
above all human beauty. Still, her beauty, unimaginable «s
surpassed by her discretion. No wonder the will of Aastnu
becomes subject to hers, as darkness is subject to i. ««**

his soul makes itself all eyes to admire her. No wonder be order*"'
her such a dress, ornamented with pearls and diamonds of fa**
as would nuke most women's mouths water with unavailing dear*.
But who is chosen to construct this gorgeous garment ? The *■}
of fate puts forward a neglected Christian slave, who whisper* ■
Cathalina's ear that he would sooner measure hi -hnai

;

erslaaaa

The Drama of Cervantes.

459

It is her !•. The lady faints. The SulUn storms and

rages, and the daughter awakes only just in time to prevent her sire

becoming food for tunnies and tenches, or hiving hi

a rabbit by the half of a yard

sharpened for thru express purpose. As in nearly .ill Cen

comedies, there is a double plot, not too neatly connected. A pair of

Trans mbert or Albert and Clara, have found their

Bto the Saltan's seraglio, the former of course being dressed as
a woman, there known under the names of '/...

instance which the author seems anxious to impress
•■■■■ notice, as he insists upon it four times over. So little
connection, indeed, have these persons with the main subjects of the
play, so sparse are their appearances therein, that without this pre-
caution tli- rcade might well inquire who on earth they were I On
I day the Grand Turk, animated not by any inconstancy, but
only by a laudable anxiety to obtain i^ue of his body, throws the
handkerchief to /.inula. Some little disturbance ensues. Zelinda
es by penuding the Saltan mat be, by patient prayer,
)i. ;il prevailed upon the Prophet to change hi<. sex, The Saltan, who
SOcrm to have possessed faith enough to move mountains, bd

nid rewards the person so favoured of Mahomet by a marriage
with Xayda, and by making him i'acha of Rhodes. The graeioso, a

CtCT said to have been introduced by Lope, which enlivens the
action but seldom advances the ph it, is a certain Christian captive
called Madrigal, who early <! imself by putting a

lump of pork into a pot of /■ vegetable soup, much affected

by the Jews. At that time every pStty impertinence offered

is persecuted people passed for wit in the eyes of the Christian

' . Afterwards Madrigal comes on the stage with two companions,
all attired in brand-new color. I white linen breeches, and

black buskins, and the trio dafice and ling to their own accompanim. m
of guitar and tambourines. So far. they bear no little resemblance to
tile t nt our metro; ttCOtS with theii

ened feces. Hut a distinction appears in the fact that then
wristbands are expressly stated to be without ruffles. The greatest
absur with this Madrigal is hi» solemn rmw

the Cadi —the Moorish Bishop, as Cervantes explains— to teach, by
the grace of Cod, u's great elephant Turkish, of which he

confesses he knows not a word, within the space of ten years. The
descendant of Apollonius Tyancus, as he calls himself, sett about his
arduous feat by sounding in the beast's ear with a tin trumpet. Be
hhft made this promise to escape the penalty of death, aqd, as he.

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explains to one of his comrades who dilates ©n the difficulty of 1
undertaking, either himself, or the Cadi, or the elephant will |
die, and so the engagement l>e dissolved, before the expiration of it
allotted term. This anecdote is probably not original. Thepbj
abounds, as may be supposed, with Moorish words and custeoa.
There is a notice of the manner of reception of a Persian amtawfa,
of a remarkable Jvistern method of offering petitions, with which ibe
play opens, and of the number of ladies in the harem. Acurian
theological opinion, that Judas sinned more in hanging himself A*
in selling his Master, is laid down by the father of the heroine— thu
rose, as she is called by the grateful Pacha, set among thorns fcr be
rose's greater glory.

" Pedro de Urde Malas," a drama of the picaresque style, ha

little interest or excellence. Pedro, a fellow so astute that Sokxnon,

king of the Jews, might pay him tribute, is in the service of an ikakfc,

most stupid person from Flanders to Greece and from Egypt If

Castile. His manner of giving judgment is honest, if eccentric

Certain judicial decisions arc put into his hood, and drawn cot it

haphazard by Pedro, when the time arrives for sentence. Their

malapropos character constitutes the humour of the first act. In it*

second, Pedro gives a sketch of his life, of the roguish kind fimilui

to the reader of Rinconete, to a certain gipsy, who in turn desoilx*

the chief characteristics and agriments of gipsy existence, in very

nearly the same terms as Cervantes told them in the " Little Gipsy

Girl." A stage direction gives the additional information Out all ik

gipsies arc to speak their parts ceceandb, or after a lisping niln*

Pedro was told early in life that he should become a king, wA

becomes in the end a king on the stage. Belica, or BeliUa, pet tea

of Isabcllc, is the niece of the queen, but, like Cottanza, the pf*J

girl, has been brought up from infancy by that wandering pWJ*6

She plays no important part in the comedy, and seems only introdK*!

for ihc sake of the anagnorisis, which is brought about by

jewels in the usual manner. Plot in the play there is none. B*

the subject which occupies the greatest number of lines is a retifta"

rascality on the part of Pedro Urde Malas. He disguises hunKlfn

a hermit, and by representing to a rich and silly countrywoman th*t I

has just arrived from Purgatory, where many of her relattoro

suffering the severest torments he extracts from her several

of money under pretence of prayer for these unhappy souls.

It avex her at last content, but naked. It is curious how

could have obtained his privilege for printing such expressions *»

follow concerning one of the most favourite doctrines of the Holy

The Drama of Cervantes. 461

Catholic Faith. " Your husband," Pedro tells his gull, " vrill escape
the horrible flame ; your son will lower the sail of his lofty, fearful
yell, which he is ottering in the fire which bums the black country ;
little Martin, your nephew — I mean him with the mole on his face —
will cease to pout when he perceives the high road of glory which he
will pass along so soon." And so on for a couple of columns. The
unfortunate woman looks on herself as Mother soul in Purgatory,
aAcr parting with her cat-skin purse with its contents, but congratulates
herself on the certainty of her sally to the serene region on the
shoulders of her faith. An incident less irreligious but more amusing,
is that in which Pedro takes a couple of pullets from their proprietor
with the sole excuse that it is his duty to send them as a ransom for
the Christian orprivei in Algiers. Pedro's conception of a good
actor is perhaps correct. " If all actors," he says, " had the proper
requisites of an actor, they would be as rare as they are now
numerous. For an actor must have a good memory, an easy deliver)-,
a sufficient wardrobe. He must not be affected in any great degree,
nor must he mouth his part. He must be distinguished by a careless
care. He must act in such a manner, with such zeal and cunning,
as to make himself wholly that which he pretends to be. He must
by his fancy raise the dead fable into life again. He must with
counterfeited wretchedness draw tears from laughter, and afterwards
carry his audience back with him into laughter out <if tears. Finally.
he must make them, each and all, put on the semblance himself puts
on, and, if he does all this, lit n ill, believe me," says Pedro, " be an
excellent actor." O in the person of Pedro, congratulates

himself and the audience, at the conclusion of the piece, on the
abscnceofsever.il in identt, which he probably considered overworn.
The play does not end in a marriage — a common circumstance
represented a hundred thousand times. The leading lady is not
delivered in the first act of n balry, to find herself in the second
the mother of a man bearded like the pard. The protagonist is not
exceedingly valiant, nor is he always for avenging a certain insult
offered to his ancestors, nor docs he finally become king of a
kingdom unknown to any cosmographer of this world. " From

rtinences as these," says the author, " my comedy is free ; but
it abounds in artifice, address, and ornament."

►tber play without a single marriage in it is " LaEntn -ti «id 1,"
• name involving a pun, for it may mean " The Amming," or it may
have a sense which is suggested by its concluding lines —

Acattt f.ln mitri-n
I j comeH ii er.ticl«ni<la.

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The chief feature in the plot of this play is the same as that of
Mrs. Centlivre's "Bold Stroke for a Wife," in wluV
Fcignwell passes himself off for the real Simon Pure. Tl>c heroine
of Cervantes' comedy is naturally disgusted nidi the false Sim
Pure, finding he has neither money DO! : and the real Saw*

Pure is disgusted with the heroine, because he <
overshadowed and darkened by her penultimate adorer. So ticKp
no marri.-igo between the masters. The underplot of the piece «
as frequently in the Spanish drama, between the servants. There b
a certain elegant scullion of whom three arc enamoured— a pajr, i
lackey, and a parasite. Of these, the lackey expresses himself srti
the greatest amount of poetry. Says he, " Between the sieve *ni
the crib, between the straw and the barley, love's fever fights agair*
me by night and by day." Hut the course of true love never yet mi
smooth. The lady whom he once looked on as the flower and the
dI love's fairest tree, is little by little lowered in his regard to the
writchedest mule he ever scratched in his life. Her odier serrik
suitors for sundry weighty reasons become aweary of her, and the
unlucky woman, to whom destiny had awarded three stools,

in utter astonishment upon the ground. Thus there U so
marriage among the servants. An accidental similarity of narocaai
car.ui' a between the heroine and the object of her broderi

ilmiration, insinuates into the former 1 ispkion equity

indecent and absurd. This incident is apparently introduced »Wf
to complicate a piece, which rather recalls the sinuosities of Lap
than the simplicity of Cervantes. The artifice of the leather ***•
bag in the fight between the parasite and the lackey is but a rc|«ui
of an incident in the second part of " Don Quixote," in Caawb*^
nuptials, wherein the reader will remember the trick by »hkh

Sasdio gains Quitcria for his bride. The story of the lover «fco
offered a lady's-maid four doubloons for her and his lady's toothpA
is what the Americans call " a caution " for such fools as |
too confident a faith, and at far too high a price, toys which 1
hallowed or made valuable in some way by the touch of 1
mistress's fingers. For the careless sewing wench, intent on cder
matters, took the first toodipick which came to hand— one «fc
which her old mumbling master explored the cavities of sm
carious tusks as were still his. But the ardent I tig receiwd

it widi ineffable delight, set it in the richest gold, and wore ix «>•
stantly as a holy relic about his Deck. Nay, he went so farssW
weep over it on his knees, and offered up prayers to this dry and dirt;
piece of slick, to assist him in his arduous emprise.

Or ■

463

" The Labyrinth of Love," so called from the difficulties which
beset two ladies who disguise themselves as men to pursue the
■ of tlieir affection, is full of the intrigue which characterises
the genre established by I. ope. It is a comedy of cape and sword,
in which the usual Spanish dress was worn, opposed to a historic or
religious play. It is made glorious by the presence of four dukes and
three duchesses, as the sister* or daughter* of dukes arc called in
Spain. Duke Dagobcrt informs Duke Frederick, in pretty plain
it.it his daii| ■ misconducted heaclfj and off«

maintain what he says with his -sador of Duke

Manfred, who was engaged to the accused lady, the Duchess
Rosamira, hearing : ition, at once breaks off the engage-

ment. I lis master, like Cwsar, would have his wife above uacpii ion,
Rosamira, on being interrogated, remains dumb, and is carried nil 10
prison, much to the disgust of Duke Anastasio, one of her lovers,
who is present disguised as a labourer. la the mean time Duke
Manfred meets while hunting two young duchesses, disguised as
shepherde an be admits into his retinue. The duchesses arc-

named Portia and Julia, and the latter is in love with M.miuil. On
hearing ihi out Roaamin, all three o( them depart disguised

as students, two of them being deeply interested in the accti
10 find out what they can in o D with it. Anastasio, who has

determined to he R ends to her Portia, ulx.ni

he supposes a student, under the disguise of a market-wonun,
her low :■ law ilc. ice as Viola hers

to Orsino in ■•Twelfth Night" Portia and Rosamira exchange
dresses; the latter escapes an'! Siei to Dagobcrt, who, it tuma out,
has only accused her to 1 triage with Manfred. On the

St for the trial by combat, Portia appears, covered, of course,
with a veil, in a dress of tabby silk — half black, half green. Half
her guards are dressed in wedding raiment, half in habits of mourn-
the executioner with the axe ; on her right a boy
bearing a crown of laurel ; even the tambours which precede her are
particoloured— black and green— all which, says the ..uthor, very
justly, will present a sin Anastasio appears masked,

and 1' red, followed by JuB quire; but no Dagobcrt,

who, indeed, talking to Rosamira. his wife, la concealed among the
crowd. A letter, however, arrives from him addressed to Frederick,
the conduct of the former v, i t to Rosamira.

The married pair come forward, and UaaJ Vnastasio, after

some littlr action, finally espouse Julia and Portia. These

marriages are perhaps somewhat sudden, seeing that neither of

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The GentUmaris Magazine.

the gentlemen loved or professed to love cither of the ladies ; but
they come not unexpected by the reader of Spanish comedy.
English contemporary plays present the same anomaly. What had
Camilla in '"Winter's Talc" deserved, what had he done, that he

I he wedded to tha'. old vixen Paulina? Nothing whatever,
man fell a victim to the fashion of the period.
'Hie famous comedy of " The House of Jealousy and the Woods
of Ardenia" introduces us to the Paladins of Charlemagne. Just
as in the story of Bojardo, of the opening of which the first act
dramatised version, comes the Pagan princess, tl. r tex,

Angili<:i, and causes sad disturbance among many ptowest knight*.
Especially are the Christian peers Orlando and Rinaldo inflamed
with jealous rage. The former apostrophises the latter as born ini
v..>rl.l toldy to be the fetter of his feet, the handcuffs of his hands,
tin- hindrance of his victories, the hell of his glories, the destroyer

triumphs, and the bitter aloes of his delight. In the comedy,
as in the poem, Argalia, with the enchanted lance, is killed by
Ferrau. Malagigi, or Malgcsi, as he is called in the 'forms

his magic sleights in favour of his cousin Rinaldo ; and Canelon

-uch seeds of discord in the heart of the Emperor as declare
how well he deserved his position in Dante's Inferno — in th
lake where, livid with cold, he still chatters like a stork 01
eternal shadow. Cervantes' love of spectacular effect b very apparent
in this play. In the first act a devil rises from a trap-door, and sits
by Malgesi's side so long as Angelica appears. That lady's palfrey
is held by two savages, dressed in ivy or some hempen stuff stained
green. To the sound of the sad music of flutes, Merlin's ghost
emerges from a practu r tomb. The fight of the two

interrupted by a flaming fire. But in the second ai
things yet more wonderful than these. The act commences wit
complaints of two poor wise shepherds, who mourn with their guitar*
among the hills the bad taste of a discreet maiden, who preft
then* one rich but foolish. To show his simplicity, they |
upon him of which it is difficult to discover tl.
whit docs this help their cause with the •!!• den, who

encourages her abashed lover in almost the same woi
the fair and modest widow in " Don Quixote" defends the [j
lay brother, who for her purpose knew as much philosoj
and more than— Aristotle :

Colli, que p*r* aqacllo i|«r ni ilrre*.
Mas «ab» "roe trecimtoi Salook''

The greater part of thi i taken up with n

The Drama of CervanU s.

465

and Others, to dissuade AC two rival peers from tl nit of

Angelica. Rinaldo, after hearing u overture of sighs and 1
chains, sees a monster, with the mouth of a serpent, vomiting lire.
So far, however, is he from being afearcd, that he asks for permission
to enter through this fire into the monster's sulphury maw. Whereupon
Malgcsi, who has come out of its mouth in disguise, dedans himself to
be Horror, the ambassador of Jealousy, who dwell* there. Othei lb
Jealousy's grim attendants, issue from her abode, also like Merlin'.
ghost, to the sound of sad music. First is discovered through the flash-
ing flame. Fear, dad in a grey coat girt with adders. Then Suspi<

En parti-coloured raiment Then Curiosity with a hundred eyes,
most of them sightless ; and Despair, a rope about her neck and a drawn
dagger in her hand. Last of all appears Jealousy herself, compared
to whom in evil all her attendants are but idle shadows. She is attired
in a leaden-coloured gown, on which arc painted snakes and lizards,
and she wears a wig, black, white, and blue. As all these phantoms
have no effect in shaking Rinaldo's resolution, the Goddess Venus is
entreated to untie this knot, demanding divine intervention. She
comes in a chariot, drawn by lions, and is followed soon after by her
son Cupid on a cloud. The latter undertakes to lead Rinrddo to
that magic fountain so famous in this ancient story. Cupid, by the
way, appears clothed, with a broken bow, and without arrows. On
being asked the reason by his mother, he replies, that since Interest
lias usurped his authority, and love has become a sort of feu in
which each seeks only for his own profit, he has turned his quiver
into a purse, and every arrow into a crown; besides, in order to fly the
fester, stripping his wings of feathers, and covering then) instead v. ith
three-pile velvet. As for Orlando, he is addressed by 111 and Good
Fame successively. The former has a black tunic on her body, black
wings on her back, a black wig on her head, a black trumpet in one
hand, and a black book in the other. In this black book, she tells him,
arc recorded the evil feats which have obscured the report of foolish
lovers. Here is written how the Roman Triumvir was blinded with
the light of a fair face, and how Hercules sat spinning in petticoats at
the feet of Deianira. Infinite, indeed, is the number of celebrated
names on thesi IgM, but there is yet room for the MUM Of

Orlando. Then Good Fame reads to him, out of her book of gold,
the names of those who have not been beguiled into following the
sweet fire of love — of Julius Caesar, that famous man, equally illus-
trious with the pen and the lance, whose " wit set down to make his

1 live that with which his valour enriched his wit;" and of the great

you cexur. no. i;86.

H 11

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Tlu Gentleman s Magazine.

cavalier Maehabseus, the guide of the people, which was the friend of
God. But Orlando is as little affected as his rival ; nay, he «j
down both sights as magic seductions of Malgesi, and regrets hating
missed the opportunity of pulling them l>oih in pieces. The tart
act continues the im.lfotu.il attempts of Malgesi to detach the wo
peers from the object of their adoration. It opens as the seaad,
with a joke put upon the rich shepherd suitor by his poor rink* in
which he is almost choked with his own left gaiter, under a pretext
of being taught to sing. Rinaldo asks one of these clowns if he ha
seen Angelica, describing her as a lady with starry eyes, golden bg,
and a mouth breathing Sabsean odour. " No," replies the rustic, "it
has not been near the place, or I should surely have smelt thtf
breath you talk of: I, who never was troubled with a cold in Umbos'
in all my life. Yet I have found something, but shall I tell you what?"
"Certainly,' answers the anxious lover. "Then," says the lout,
" I have found three pigs' feet, and a •.. iter." This sortof <■!

was doubtless a tax of the time levied on the poet by the Sputk
groundlings. The English public of Shakespeare's age were moreeoa-
tent probably than Coleridge with the porter's speech in ■ Macbeth,'
and would have looked askance on Schiller's conversion of it hu»a
morning hymn. Towards the end of the act Mariisa appears ft
CharlemaitiK • .-. court, announcing herself as a woman for whose dead
earth is nil tOO narrow — therein, perhaps, little differing from the re* of
her sex— and as caring not a straw for Christ or, indeed, for Mahomet
She offers, in fine, to fight the whole of the king's knights in snecesaofc
Galalon accepts her offer, and is discomfited The play coocJnJei
with a political message to the monarch, conveyed by an angt! «H
flying cloud ; and as for Angelica, trttrrima M/i causa, it is detenu**!
she shall belong to that one of the rivals who puts the enemy tore*
soonest The most amusing anachronism in this piece is the »1»V
ment of a duefia to the heroine. 'ITiis lady, of a class at whka
Ccrvantr d of laughing, is introduced with a lap-dog, cxn»*

plaining of a fit of the mother, and longing for the time when shcdul
be at rest with her pillow in the drawing-room, when she shall apis
behold in their little bottles her white paints, r unguraH

and her pickled raisins ; for the fierce French wii nuns'

her complexion; they liavc, in her own grci Ls mad* si

face like the sole of her shoe. An extraordinary appearance amceg
the paladins of the puissant son of Pepin must this lady have pre-
sented, dressed after the fashion of the |>criod — a fashion not enftc
that at present prevailing among the Sisters of Mercy, to the *U**
boys' mingled amuscmerw awi we— in a black frock, and cap of wfe

The Drama of Cervantes.

467

linen cm . r face, and falling over her shoulders and bosom

down to the middle of her skirls.

The principal intent of " The Gallant Spaniard " was, as tlve writer
in the last lir.es of thai to mix historical truth with

fable. How much of tl to come under each of these cate-

gories it is now difficult to determine Arlaxa, a man-el of Moorish
loveliness, a lady who, as one of her many admirers puts it, might
lend light to the sun, and losing none herself in< rease his splendour,
is anxious to see the gallant Spaniard Don Fernando de Saavedra,
poisibly one of the auti . , the bugbear of Barbary, a nun

illy valiant and <]■■ qualities rarely, as Cenantes wisely

remarks, united. : i/el, one of her lovers, fetch Fernando

from Oral), atx miles from Algiers, promising to marry thai

if he gratifies her curiosity. The governor of Gran refuses to
allow Fernando to go; but the gallant Spaniard di liiuy

ordas,. .leaps thj of the fortification by night, and entei

aduar or village of Arlaxa. In the iin.11 lime Margarita, a lady who
thus ingeniously puns upon her name —

Margarita, mar do morn

Gustos que mc h»n d« nmar^jr —

arrives also at Arlaxa's aduar. She is dressed in masculine attire
and.tclls Arlaxa, in the presence of Fernando, who has assumed the
habiliments of a Moor, bow, having been shut in a nunnery by a cruel
ilht 1 ^kc of her fortune, site has made her escape, and

in search of a gentleman who had offered to many her,
nhe had never seen. He eventually turns out to be
other than the gallant Spaniard Fernando inquires it the
could marry the gentleman in the event of his being ugly. Margarita
plies that she C&ien only for his <x>urage, the beauty of his mind;
as for that of the face, it is but a flower of January, which withers in
the shade, Fernando then persuades Margarita, Arlaxa, and
Alimuwl to accompany him to Ieged by

the kings of Algiers, of Cuco, and of Abbes, Here they meet with
Marg d brother, who has been taken captive. During the

assault of Gran, the gallant Spaniard shows his proper colours. He
declares himself a Christian, and makes sad havoc among the
unhappy Moors, whom he had so impudently deceived by adopting
their raiment, and jwofessing himself on their side.

CeTvantes, or rather his audience, doubtless considered every-
n love. The play ends with the forgiveness
of Fc tr, in consideration of his hetcAe, <&*«&&,

it it a

468 The Gentleman s Magazine.

his exact amount of Mussulman slaughter being duly credited to

him ; with his marriage to Margarita, whom lie offers to take in
deference to her brother's idiosyncrasies sans dol, and wit.:
Arlaxa to Alimuzel. The gratfoso of the piece is a hungry soldier
named Buyuago, who has been especially permitted, in consideration
of his abnormal appetite, to beg fa Purgatory in or.ler to

satisfy it. This it part of the history of the piece, if we may believe
author, who anent Huytrago intercalates this note: "The
of begging for souls is actually true. 1 saw i' DOM

Buytrago is but an impudent beggar, a tedious buffoon. Wit;
doubt Cervantes was ashamed of him. Equally without doubt, the
groundlings had adored him. He appears in every act. Yet docs
he not ever speak with that regard to religious decorum which a
properly disposed audience has a right to require. On one occasion,
for instance, he asks " their ladyships the souls iu Purgatory " (a
protect htm, unless they happen to be asleep at the time in their
dormitory — reminding us of Elijah's mockery of the prophets of Baal ;
and on another, he excuses himself for showing a little violence in
his petitions by saying he cannot well do otherwise in Oran, for
there nobody dies in his bed, cockered to the last with draughts and
dainties, but rather of spear- thrusts or a bosom torn open by bull*
So the souls go down to Purgatory in a pet, and having gTcat wrath
themselves, require Bujtrago to beg for them with equal fury. The
play is not, as indeed none that Cervantes wrote are, devoid of
striking sentences, such as the reply of Margarita to her guardian,
who has attempted by several wise arguments to dissuade her from
her foolish scheme of following Fernando to Oran. Say- that young
woman, " The prudent and the old always give good advice, but, alas!
its goodness I rj by that mad early age which becomes

entangled in itself, and DCVi its anything prudent oul>id<-

own inclination." The too, of the hero is somewliat curious,

if we may take it as the deliberate sentiment of the author. " A well-
born man, however much offended," says Fernando, " never changes
fads religion." The last scenes are so perplexingly full of the hurly-
burly of battle, that we may apply to them the reverse of part of t
Johnson's criticism of "Coriolanus" — whether or no there be too
bustle in the first act, there is certainly too much in the last.

A very extraordinary play of Cervantes has been reserved for final

^deration. Its fable is uninteresting, its conduc ;
most celebrated drama Cervantes ever •
sperims Bully" belongs to a class known as Com'.

the most extravagant. It is a religious play, founded

The Drama of Cervantes.

469

of what Milton rails prevenient grace. Besides the
crs of Curiosity and Comedy, already mentioned,
there are in this mystic drama a pastry-cook, a demon, a tailor, a
skeleton, a Grand Inquisitor, an angel, three policemen, three souls
out of Purgatory, Lucifer, and the hero, who, after living in Seville
Kfce Ilarabbas, or a modern Mohawk, dies in the odour of sanctity as
1 saint and miracle-monger in Mexico. The first act is occupied
with some of the excesses of Lugo, as the protagonist is named. He
« shown to be on excellent terms with the police force, and a
ten-ant of the Grand Inquisitor. The most interesting portion of
the act is a description of a dinner to which Lugo is invited by
bdies of the profession amiably ascribed by Dr. Johnson to Mrs.
Beauclerk. The dishes are somewhat confused in the Spanish
narrative, but the most important, arranged in modem order, appear
to be these: — First, a shad and a painted shrimp, followed by a fat
BTOuiy gudgeon and a slippery ecl ; next a rabbit pasty, pierced in
a thousand parts with shafts of bacon ; then a tart of madapples ;
and, lastly, an almond sweetmeat of Alicante. As the first act
looved Lugo's life of sin, so the second shows his life of sobriety.
Behold him now in Mexico, a friar of St. Dominic ! a paragon of
piety, busied continually in devout contemplation and holy exercises.
He roost notable acts and temptations of the saint, for he
canonised at last, are here brought before the spectator, and
author naively vouches for their truth in the midst of his
directions : " All this is historically the fact." " This is no lie
apocryphal supposition." " This vision is genuine." Amongst
tacts, not the least curious is that of a sick lady, who, in spite of
texts which arc quoted for her comfort by an attendant priest,
about to die in despair for want of good works. Lugo, or the
of the Cross, as he is now called, is summoned to her bedside,
this is the astounding part of the comedy — in due legal form
over to her use the benefit of all and sundry his fastings, tears,
masses, &c. To this strange deed of gift he beseeches Christ,
and the eleven thousand virgins, to become securities, and
earth, heaven, and the holy angels as witnesses ! Well may
of the minor characters, who has attentively watched this transfer,
oat in a transport, " Oh, lucky sinner ! "

The third act is occupied with the holy death of the Father of
Cross, and some of its scenes are, it must be confessed, sur-
Onc of the first fruits of the strange bargain is, that the
Fataer of the Cross becomes a leper. He bears this infliction with
aemplary patience. He is a very Job, without his wife "and his

4?o

The Gentleman's Jifaga

potsherds. A theological dispute is given at full length between I
and a devil, wherein, while admitting th

in dialectics, he remains supremely satisfied with his own superiority
in faith; like Cowper's old cottage woman, he knows his Bible true, a
truth of which the devil, like the brilliant Frenchman, was unaware.
At last the devil has an unfair advantage taken of him by the sudden
exhibition of the holy father's rosary. He retreats roaring. Such is
the stage direction. After a lapse of thirteen years — occurring, alas
for the unities ! not in the division of an act, not even in the division
of a scene, but missingly alluded to by one of the minor actors — the
holy father, who has by this time become superior of his convent,
dies. Then his body, once seared with the loathsome sore,
leprosy, becomes like burnished silver or limpid crystal. There is a
general raid Of tin IS, represented by first, second, and third

< ui.en, on his blood-stained rags, and he is carried to the grave, with
a howling accompaniment of the disappointed damned, by no less a
dignitary than the Viceroy himself. The comedy bears sonic rete
blancc to Boccaccio's talc of " Scr Ciappclletto," which he seems to
have intended as a satire on the intercession of saints. Ciappclletto,
the worst man that ever was ' reencd by his master,

Museiatto, as I.ugo by t1 Inquisitor. The reader wil

recollect how the populace dispute about his rsgs for relics when he
is dead, and how he is buried with much pomp in a marble tomb,
and worshipped ever after as a saint with vows and candles. Hut the
essential difference of the two narratives lies in this, that the Italian
rogue never repents. He procures absolution by a lying confession,
couched in terms of the most daring impiety. Having con
so many sins, one or two more on his death-bed, he imagines, will
make small difference in his destiny. I believe and conclude, says
Boccaccio, that he is rather in the hands of -rdition

than in paradise ; but, be that as it may, God worked and still works
many miracles by him,

JAMES MKW.

47i

A PILGRIMAGE to the BIRTHPLACE
OF NELSON.

NOT long since, as I happened to be attending a Congress
Archaeologists at Norwich, I received from an old friend a
piffling invitation to come over and spend a few days in his hos-
pitable home. He added, by way of temptation: " Here I am, not
far from cither Walsingham or Burnham Thorpe ; so if you like to
like me on your way back to London, you may make a pious pil-
grimage 10 ' Our Lady of Walsingham,' or else a secular one to the
birthplace of Horatio Nelson." It is needless to say that I accepted

I hit challenge, and performed at all events the second pilgrimage ;
with what results shall be told in the following paper.
Some twenty miles to the north-east end of King's Lynn, not far
from Holkham, the magnificent seat of the Cokes, is a large district
wene six miles by four in extent, known far and wide as the " Seven
Barnhams." It is a fine agricultural neighbourhood ; and its yeomen
farmers, I fancy, will bear comparison with those of any other locality
in East Anglia,

I The whole district for miles around, long since cut up into
several parishes, was collectively called Burnham, perhaps from
the Bum or brook which ran through them, and gave its name to its
lords in the Saxon times, members of a knightly family called
Burnham. When gradually the various manors and lordships passed
into different hands, and churches were built for the population
which grew up around them, seven parishes were formed, each bear-
ing a distinctive name, as Burnham Sutton, Burnham Norton, Burn-
ham Ovcry (/>. over the water), Burnham Deepdale, Burnham West-
gate, and Burnham U lph. The south-eastern district became known as
Bmham " Thorpe," that being the Saxon name for a village. Under
our Saxon kings much of the land was in the hands of the Carmelites
ad members of other religious houses which abounded here ; and, in
fact, even to this day, there arc few districts in the Eastern Counties
«» which the Mcdixval Church has left its mark so plainly as the
"Seven Burahams.*' Of the rest, a large share passed at the Norman

472 The Gentleman's Magazine.

Conquest into the hands of those powerful Earls, the Bigods, of Norfolk,
and the Eatls of Warrcnnc and Surrey, from whom it descended to the
Calthorpes, and from them again to the Parkers and Lombards, and
from the latter family it came by marriage to the Walpoles, I-ords
Orford, who still ix»sess many of its manors and much of it\
nage.

Of liuTiilium Thorpe more especially we are told by Blonu-i
in hit " History of Norfnlk," that at the Conquest it was held by a
great Sawn thane, named Toke, who was deprived of it by William.
The township was th<-n conferred on William, Earl Warren ;cr,

who held it under the Karl, at the time of the Domesday HOT
was the ancestor of the BomhUBS, who, somehow or other, seem to
have come gradually to be lords in the place of the Earl, who prob-
ably found that he had more and better " fish to fry " in Surrey and
in the neighbourhood of Norwich, i slip his hold on this remote

and perhaps profitless possession. Blomeficld tells us that, William de
Bumham dying without issue in the reign of Henry III., the manor
of Bumham Thorpe came to Sir William dc Calthorp. who had
married his sister and heiress. Sir William and his ely

appear to have been good friends to the people of Bumham, for they
obtained a charter for a fair there to be held on the feast of St. Peter
ad Vinculo, and also a weekly market on Saturdays ; the latter, how-
ever, has been discontinued for many years, though the place is
knovn as Bumham Market. The property remained in the Calthorpe
l .nnily till Elizabeth, sister and heir of one Philip Calthorpe, bron
it in marriage to Sir Henry Parker, of Erwaiton, in Suffolk ; and the
Pari; i appeal to have presented to the church until the reign of
Queen Anne, when it passed to the 1-ombards, one of whom, Peter
Lombard — net the author of the " Sentences * — lies buried in the
chancel of Bumham Thorpe church.

Bumham Thorpe, or, as it is called by the natives, •' Thorpe " —
for the Bumhams arc to them a little world— is a long, straggling
village with two streets running parallel to each otlver, and intersected
by other lanes at right angles. It contains one or two good sob*

ntial farms, with " Granges," that have seen more than three
centuries, such excellent brickwork and tiling do they exhibit The
cottages arc neat and plain, and each has a little strip of gat'
ground before it or else in the rear. And the village b cut nearly
into two equal parts by a brook of clear water, in which I should
have expected that I/aak Walton m < I good sport Its

rapid and darting stream hall invokes me to nail
of poetry, and to

A Pilgrimage to the Birthplace of Nelson. 473

At the west end of the village is the church, which lies HMy
from the road in the mitUt of green meadows and cornfields, fringed
lie largest and finest willows that I ever saw, mark-
ing the course of the brook on its way to the oyster beds at
Burnham Overie. At the further or eastern end of the street, nearly
a mile distant, is the rector)', of which I had so often heard and
read as having been the birthplace of our great naval hero. I
pressed on to see it before the daylight was gone.

Slo; ads, of a park-like kind, thou I, lead up to a

modern mansion, Staked ID the re.ir by a grove of beech hi
the top of which is a small artificial mound, with a mi miner-house and
seat, called the " Mount," which commands a pleasant view across
the Burnhams. The church tower rises in the centre, out of teH
under wlv on must often have walked and played as a

Md the sea is to be seen in the offing, at three or four miles'
distance. It was probably here that the boy Horatio used to sit and
muse upon the clement with which he had already made friends,
and on which he was destined hereafter to build his fame.

Most of the trees in the rectory grounds are of more recent date
than the boyhood of Nelson ; one umbrageous Spanish chestnut
looks as if he must have played under its shade ; but it appears that
it was planted l>y his father's successor in the living, only a year or
two before Nelson was laid in his grave in St. Paul'-.. Then M
however, in these grounds some silvery beeches, which dool
were flourishing trees in Nelson's time ; and the road to ihc I ban fa
is fringed on cither side by oaks and elms, whii h wen- already old
trees in his infancy. The HBM is the case with the may Bad
hawthorns which grow on the left-hand of the grass pathway which
leads from the village street to the church.

The little brook which runs past the rectory, accompanying the
road for some two hundred yards in its course, is full to the brim in
a rainy season, and flows so deliciously clear and bright that one OU
easily fancy that it produces delicious trout. These, however, arc
rarely found now, because in hot summers the water is nearly dried
up. I .arge numbers of eels however, arc still caught in it by
" Spcarin

Its course towards the sea, which must often have been followed
by the adventurous boy Horatio, lies through pleasant meadows,
intersecting the village, and passing near the parish church. Thence
it runs to Bumham Overie, where it turns a mill : and then it finds its
way through the sand-hills into the sea, which hereabouts is famous for
its oysters, as stated above. All along its course is marked by alders and

474 The Gentleman's Magazine.

willow*, whose gnarled and knoued trunks would form a study for
the artist's pen

The kingfisher still darts up and down dtit bum, whilst wood-
pigeons " coo " among the trees on each side of it ; and a golden
eagle was lately shot whilst hovering over one of its bends. From
Thorpe the road still leads to Holkham, Wells, and liinham, just as
it did a century or more ago, when Horatio and his brother William
rode along it to rejoin their school at North Walsharo, in the deep
snow at the end of their Christmas-tide holidays, as told by Soulhcy
in his " Lift of Nelson."

But of all the parts of this quiet rural scene, after all, the rivulet
is least changed by the liand of time : —

For men may came and men nay go,
llui I flow on for ever.

At the bottom of the rectory garden, facing the road between
Thorpe and Crcake, is another fanciful memorial of Nelson — a pond
artificially formed as the facsimile representation of the deck of the
Vulory. The curved line of one end and the sharp angle at the
other represent the stern and the bows of the gallant ship as she
would be seen from above. The pond is now overgrown with weeds
and water plants, so thai its sharply-dcrincd outline is rapidly dis-
appearing. So true arc the words of Shakespeare that men's good
deeds are too often " writ in water. "

AU individual traits of the great naval hero seem to have passed
away in the villi:,! . though the chief inn commemorates him in the
sign of the " Net: i," and is likely to continue to do so for a

few more decades, as I noticed it was kept by " Thomas Parr." The
portrait which swings on the signboard is not a very flattering one,
nor of any great value as a work of art Some of the cottagers, how-
ever, have prints "l" Nelson on tlieir walls, more or less Battering. 1
noticed a good copy of an engraving of Nelson, by Cousins, in the
sitting-room of the jwrish clerk.

Thorpe church, in spite of having been denuded of its southern
aisle, is still a handsome specimen of a partly Decorated and partly
Perpendicular structure, unite of the Norfolk type, externally cased
with flint and stone dressings, and having a clerestory and Li
windows. It is not richly decorated, but plain and simple through-
out ; there is a fine north porch, surmounted by a cross, and the east
window is of good proportions. On either side of it is a niche, each
once bearing the figure of a saint ; but these arc gone. Beneath it is a
small pointed arcade, in stone ; and at the cast end of the churchyard

A Pilgrimage to the Birthplace of Nelson. 475

lies a fine stone coffin-lid, which deserves to be placed within the
h in order to preserve the last-perishing sculpture which once
adorned it.

In the church are monuments to several members of the Nelson
family. The pulpit and reading desk are modern tad] (rod

of a village carpenter and of a village designer as well. Bat they arc
those which stood here when Horatio Nelson came back Irom sea to

11s parents; at all events, the pulpit was erected when hi
quite a young man.

In the cliancel arc monuments to members of die Cornwallis
and Lombard families ; and on the north wall a tablet records the
death in 1803 of the Rev. Kdmund Nelson, "Rector of this parish,
and father of Horatio Lord Nelson." Of his illustrious son dicre is
no record here, save only In the parish register. This alone is visible
to a stranger's eye.

The church contains a fine though fas iass to the memory

o( Sir William Calthorp, who died in 1410. It is fully described by
Cotman. There is still a fillet of brass by his side, with the legend,

•.qui* ciU qui liuuiem, na, pcrlc^c, plora.

In Blomcficld's time the other fillet was also in situ; on it was the
line, rhyming widi the above,

Sum quod «U, fucramquc quod cj ; pro mc, precor, orx

ids of the knight and his good lady, his second wife,
Sibylla, daughter and In Bdawrnd dcSt Orncr, were other

labels inscribed with " Pcnsez dc Fyner."

Blomefield tells us, m bis " History of Norfolk," th.it in the reign
of Edward I. then was in Burnham Thorpe another church.
to St. Peter, but at that time consolidated with Burnham All Saints',
and given along with it to the prior and monks of Lewes. No traces
of the church, however, exist ; and even its site is unknown.

-arched the parish register, of course, for the entry of Nelson's
baptism, which I felt sure would be found there. It has doubtless
been sought by other curious eyes besides my own. It stands at the
top of one of the pages, thus : —

EUmtMi, :75s.

m>, mm of Kdmund and C Ndacn, bom Sept. ao; baptized

CM. 9, privately ; pub [licit received into the Church | Nov. 15,

The entry is in the handwriting of the Rev. Edmund Nelson,
the father, who continued to hold the living till his death. In the

The Genlletnaris Magazine.

margin, Horatio's next brother, William, subsc; irate of

the parish, and eventually the second Lord and first Earl Nelson,
has added a marginal note t<> tin- effect that this same Horatio was
'• invested witlithe ensigns of tin1 mourable Ortlerof the Bath

at St. James's, September :-,, 1797;" and in another lun.lwri!
probably that of Thomas Bolton, the third I .ord Nelson, is add
"made Rear-Admiral of the Blue 1 797, mil created I -ord Nelson of the
N lie and of Burnham Thorpe October 6, 1 798. Calera aiarrrt /a ma."

There is in the register an entry to the effect that the pulpit was
put up in 1 7X3 by Nelson's father ; the oak, he tells us, grew in the
p.iriili, and was given by Lord Waljwle, the rector paying the other
i:.\| icnses. The pulpit, reading desk, and clerk's desk form together
what is railed a " three-decker," or still moTc irreverently a "dick>
dicker}*, dock."

On the supposition that I>ord Nelson was baptized at the font,
the following lines were placed on it when it stood in the rectory
garden, before it was sold to a neighbouring maltster : —

How Nelson fought, lei Nile, Trafalgar, tell.
Anil grateful England how her hero fell.

native grounds hit early footstep* trod,
fool first gave Horatio to his Cod.

But in all probability the genuine ancient font is that at which
Horatio Nelson was " publicly received into the church," and still
stands near its western entrance.

It is worthy nf note that another Horatio Nelson, midshipman of

H.M.S. Endymion, bom at Burnham Thorpe in 179J, died at

hin House, near Londonderry, November 17, 1811, in the t8lh

year of his age. He was doubtless a son of a brother of the

worthy rector, and a cousin of the Admiral.

In another volume I found the following entry : —

BVBMIA iSo».

The Reverend Kdmund Nehon, A.M.. Rector of (hit parish 46 rein, died

April 16, and was buried May 11, 180c, aged 79 years. He was Father to the

ncrurable Horatio, first Viscount Nelson of the Nik, Karoo Nelson of

lliurj*, in the county of Norfolk, and was -. \0 the Barony of

b0tOUgfe aforcd d, on whom, and hi* hem male, it wai entail- rear

IKOI.

The above is in the handwriting of William, tlvc Admiral's 1
brother, the same who on Horatio's death was created Karl Nelson,
and lived and died a canon of Canterbury Cat

But very few stories and tadirJOl
the village. One, however, which I learned on the s\>ot, may as v.
be recorded here. One Wh'u, Monday, «Vwv "&<iWm\ -wu «. cvtyutat.

A Pilgrimage to the Birthplace of Nelson. 477

and the parishioners were " beating the bon: .rding to cus-

tom,1 he resolved to accompany them ; and when he came to the
brook in the fields near Burnlum Over)-, it was necessary to cross it.
On tin's, one of the Labourers took the hero up on his shoulders, and
carried him across, saying that he would not allow him to get wet
A bystander, quite a boy, named Heigh, and a native of Burnham,
then asked Nelson to take him along with him to sea, saying that he
was ready to go wherever the captain would take him. " No, no,
my young Valiant, you're not old enough yet," was Nelson's r.
and the boy, when he grew to be a man, was always called " Valiant
Heigh," and remained so at Burnham to the end of his days.

This story may be " capped " by another, which is usually to!d
as a sort of " rider " to it No sooner was Lord Nelson safely
deposited on terra firma across the brook, than his bearer asked
him, " Now, haven't I done the right thing, sir ? " " No," replied
Kelson ; " you should have dropped me into the brook, and then
everybody present would have remembered the occurrence; as it i;,
your act will soon be forgotten."

I may add that as lately as last July (1879) there died at Docking,
between this place and I.ynn, at the age of a hundred and one, an
old woman who remembered Nelson when on a visit to his father at
Bumharo Thorpe.

In a shed attached to a farmhouse in the village there lias lain
for twenty years, and still lies, one relic of Nelson — namely, one of
the timbers of the old ship Victory. It is about eight feet long,
and was presented by Lord Clarence Paget, Admiral Seymour, unci
thcr officials of the Portsmouth Dockyard, to the parish of Burn-
ham Thorpe, in or.Ur that it might be made into a lectern for the
church ; and it was sent for that purpose to the late Hon. F. Walpole,
M.P. He died, howevar, without carrying his intention into effect ;
and it is to be hoped that the present year, or next, will sec the
design carried out. A better memorial of Nelson than a lectern
made out of the timbers of the Vittory could scarcely be wished for.

ITsc following curious names of parishioners occur in the registers
of Burnham Thorpe :— Dowdy, Gogs, Tortoise, Putter, Woodbine,
Bloy, Rix, Jewlcr, Pointer, Seaman, Standgroom, Curl, Blancher,
Cannon, Tubbing, Cricks, Whale, Bee, Frairey, Skctt, Whitterhead,
Fiddeman, Silence, Craspc, Wassclby, Tuffts, Scurle, Alders, and
Feaxer. utD wai.ford.

1 Tbit Wis probably in 1790, is under (bat date the fegbter record* tlv
lh»t "the paruh officer* ; lindysll ibfaAMYMVM iccsA <fe« \»osA& vab

ttf»lml ibt M mar;

478

Tlte Gentleman's Magazine.

RECENT FRENCH POETS.

(WITH POEMS TRANSLATED BY ARTHUR (VSHAUGHNESSV),

Part I.

A POETICAL movement has of late years been insogunlol
in France, and continues uninterruptedly, striving intrtpidh;
towards the ideal, in spite of and through the sadnesses of mkr.
It may, indeed, be affirmed that, whilst the modern novelist rati
grimly amongst the ugliest recesses of human nature with «di
degree of genius as might belong to a conscientious ragman, whM
the writer of comedy has grown too witty, the vaudevillist too stupid,
and whilst the operetta grinds out mercilessly the girn-crark luacsef
the caftf-chantant, a group of young writer! lias steadily, ami w-rth
almost fanatical magnanimity, adhered to the honour and service at

1 I wish it to be understood that. as regard <,\icn and all of the poems of »l«4I
hare here attempted English versions, I would much have preferred taeir appr*",lt
in the original*; it was on account of an i tad i i ihe rxiriof "

.iii i-M |« .iv.-ljr English magartoc such i-;ni >rf m»iitfi»»

foreign tongue, thai I undertook, to the best of my i : umlate the pamv

and put them into English verse. The suggestion that the meat wek
account which we could obtain of recent French poetry wouVJ be ore wane*
by a prominent member ol elf. me! with my 1—WT <r*~

]>:iitiy ; tad Ism lined :is 1 had long been t<> write tueh an account rnrstK, I W
i)i;u Ln snabUng my friend, M, ( aiolle Milieu, to become tbe colkctitc vow**

the rntire fraternity winch lie represents, I have obtained what is far aon 09
estlng than any English writing on the subject could be. A« trtrm r/ihspoe*
translated arc my own contemporaries, I have less Imitation in aieeptinc'ie'r'P"'
ability of becoming their interpreter than would have been tbe cose had uSei be*
•o whom we now often ■ icaneta*1

*• c-Tut .-iiii. . li:i frvre," ofarl ium<**

and all I must crave indulgence; and Ir would be unjnst to 1k*Ji myself ml drt
did I not atatc that, although I have endeavoured to transplant each tart*
flower will] nil the care that one bestow* on a preckxn shrub, brinfinR **q ^
r.Kit viih all lis delicate fibres and even tin- earth thai ebnc* tu them. liiw!>
desire the leader in go in all caws to il"- original. Throughnoi, tb.or.ri WH
as literal at pouiblc, I have tried to catch the true •' spirit," and this t rfcrij
distinguish from the vague " ghost," which we too often »ee scrupulously »ilii»f
the etoct externals and adornments of what, in som foreign longwigr, Usr*
poem.

Akiiivx O'Sjiaccksxht-

Recent French Poets.

479

august Poesy. Preferring die Art which is eternal to that whi. h .-.
transitory, they answer to those who may reproach them with not
being essentially "modeme," that to work for all time is the best
way of working for the time one lives in. Seen from Art's supreme
height!, days and centuries form one vast Present That whi.
Thomas said of God may be said of Art : Tetum suum <$se simul

A**

What is the literary value of this hardy revival ? The battle is
being fought, and none can prejudge with certainty what fate the
future may reserve for there bold minstrels. Icarus still
he soar or will he Call headlong? But the nobleness of the effort il
incontestable, and were it for this alone, respect and ■
attention arc its due.

Such is the motive which has induced me, a 1'rcnchman, to
i take the task of acquainting English readers with the •
already numerous, of la nouvtIU France fwitiqiK. I would also, at
the out*et, show how the new school was actually formed, how
urgent and logical was the necessity for its advent, the aspirations
with which it started ; its early Labours, achievement;, and stru
ami how, CODndjOf not in itself, but in the future of art, this new
school des] ry in the midst of inliiieii ik:c and even

public hostility. That was the time of valiant hopes, of lolly
daring — and of what fair dream -building ! The following pages
will, 1 fenr, present many a strange medley ; a fantastic episode
appearing side by side with a grave esthetic study, an anecdote. ■
portraiture interrupted more than once by passionate bursts towards
the austere ideal ; but wlicrefore not ? My desire | rely to

it tn write tli the "legend," so to speak, of our

young days, now, al ng towards their close ; and, -t truthful,

will not such a narrative be chequered as were the days of which it
speaks? Not otherwise than -.ingingand laughing does the young
soldier rush into the breach.

One consideration alone might, however, have dissuaded me I
myenterpri-*.-. Most of the: <h poets, youths when they first

oung men when they mon feUoa

for over ten years followed the same pith, straining for the same goal,
bending to the same discipline, devoted all alike to the same i
Amongst them, despite diversities of temperament and divei
of in stablishcd so close an intel!

rdiol and constant an interchange of hop.
dreams, that p t so fraternal a

group of rivals. Those of them even who, from the fenr (tinfoil

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U it appears to mc) of losing somewhat of their native inc
stepped aside from the common track, did not cease to
the band, and the others continued to talk of them as members oft
family talk of the one who is absent on a journey. Now, this grap
counts me among its members ; I have taken part in the liitnrj
campaign of which I purpose writing the history ; pan minima hi;
and even, least considerable, yet of the first in the field, I have iai
the honour of arming and dubbing knight many a young page eager
for the lists. From one point of view nothing can be better, am
the narrative will only gain in picturesqucness through being rdHe4
by an actor fresh from the scene. I have therefore but one serjfk:
Can I place myself as judge among my comrade* in arms? HI
there not be an apparent vanity in boasting of exploits in wbie* I
myself took pan, and shall 1 be able to adequately praise my triads
without being accused of interested partiality? On the other iaai,
how, when occasions for fault-finding occur, shall I escape a Hi
more cruel suspicion ? — for the malice of readers is great, and tVy
believe with difficulty in a poet's freedom from envy in such i
matter. Marsyas has terribly damaged our reputation. I do art
hesitate, however, buoyed up by the hope that what I say will be
both interesting and opportune— interesting, because it will reitil W
the English public a whole generation of French writers, an entire
series, already considerable, of bold and varied works ; opportune,
perhaps, because the revival manifest in France would seem not l»
be without a parallel in England at this moment Am I wrong ath»
supposition ? After an attentive perusal of your recent poets, H h*
seemed to me that a striking uniformity of tendencies attaches tke»
to us ; that their inspiration and ours, notwithstanding differences of
race, pursue parallel roads; and that, as far as may be judged throag*
the disguise of translation, this analogy extends even to subtle ptean
of rhythm and expression. It would indeed be a rare and touefchf
sight, that of two poetic schools striving towards one and the sac
goal in the two countries, and acting in concert from independent,
original standpoints. Poets of England, these are, perhaps, broth*
whom I present to you, and your own readers may recognise the"
as acquaintances.

GENESIS OF A POETICAL SCHOOL.

How lite Pott Alter/ Ghligny tame In the Conquest of Paris.
One fine June morning— for this history may begin like ai
an extraordinary personage might have been seen striding with I

Recent French Poets. 4S1

interminable length along one of the high roads leading to P
I«ong as the way might be, it was dear those legs would reach the end
of it. Thin, perhaps thinner than mortal man ever was before,
transparent even, had not his coat, sadly worn with use, interposed
some slight Opacity, he went, his short hair standing erect in the
wind, his nostril dilated like th.it of a Faun keenly sniffing the
approach of a nymph. Never stopping, he seemed sonietiM
listen delightedly to the sound made by the clear stream running
over the stones. Almost flying onward, he flung a friendly menace
to the keen-flying swallow that passed him, or plucked without
stopping a handful of way-flowers. For the rest, no sign of luggage
about him — what could l»ave been more troublesome, indeed, to such
as he, than luggage, however slight ; one of his coat-pockets, however
—that over his heart— was distended as though it contained a packet.
Onward he fared, with the rectangular gait of Theophile Gautier's
Matamore. " Qu'avezvou* a declarer?" asked the officer at the
Ixarricr ; the stranger proudly repttl Nothing, in fact, liad

Albert Glatigny. Whence came he ? His father, an honest gend'arme
—of whom he afterwards frequently spoke with tears in his eyes, and
his voice trembling with emotion— missed him one morning from
the patriarchal board. Que voulci-vous? A troop of wandering
comedians had passed through the town, and Glatigny, who was then
fifteen, was stricken with love for the red locks of the toubrtttt. His
heart was taken like a fly in this golden web. But life had to be
earned. " You shall be prompter," said Zcrbinc. She explained to
him what that was; he understood but imperfectly, and replied,
" C'est convenu ! " At first he encountered some difficulties in the
role he had undertaken. It was not that he could not prompt, but
that he could not read ! Eight days later he leamt that art while
prompting. Yes, it was in spelling out the dismal phrases of M.
F.ugene Scribe or of M. Anicct Bourgeois that he learnt his letter,,
this youth who was destined later to rival in delicacy and prii
the most subtle masters of style I The apprenticeship was luud ; but
lis prompter's Ikjx he beheld, gilded in the apotheosis of the
stage lights, the admirable tresses of Zcrbinctte. Moreover, one day,
in a town where they stopped for the night, it occurred to him t<>
purchase " Lcs Stalactites " of Theodore de li.mville. Thenceforth
h* lived a charmed life. A poet had shown him what was poetry ;
he determined to read all the poets. He could never lunember by
what means he procured himself a Konsard ; but he did so. l be
madness grew stronger day by day, as he perfected his acquaintance
with these masterpieces. He learnt Latin in order to read the Virgil
vol. ccxlv. no. 1786, 1 1

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'!'/.. Gentleman s Magazine.

B i »ci<

au,tk
la%*

of whom Andre Chenier spoke. Her.. >hc*t«d*d

solemnly the grammar of Lhomond, and one night while prompts;
—for he prompted still, reading out of the corner of his eye scene
favourite volume placed close to the hated trpchure—an aetre*
caught him murmuring, instead of the expected, " Noo, tniseabb;
vous ne m'arracherez pas ma Bite I " " Aw ftifriam /ugiaxt,mi
dulciis linqunnus tinti."

Prompter, comediai), always poor, never cast down, how long dd
this lii.' last? Four or five year*, 1 believe. It did not seemhtdf
to CBtngB, when, one ilay at Alencon, the wanderer happctcd
meet Poulet-Malassis, the publisher, and Cliarles Asselioeau,
amiable and regretted bibliophile. "You m
they, after reading his first verses. "Very well, replied G!
" I will come.'' And he came — on foot What came he to don
the great city? Parbleu, to conquer it — a difficult undertaking a>
deed, and especially so at that epoch, i.e. about the comroencenwi
of 1862, as Paris seemed but ill disposed to give ear to po
mean, to real poetry ; the imperial tragi-comedy left no place f* rar
odelette, and M<llle. Schneider seriously incommoded the epk po«n
The poets themselves, even the greatest and l>oldest, seemed incline!
to turn aside from the high walks of Art wherein they had gathered
the glory and expended the passion of their youth, whether « «•
that age had cooled their inspiration, or that they were discouraged
by theabsencc of Him to whom all who think or dream pay homage. f*
in those days " Ic Perc <ftait la-bas, dans I'llc." Unopposed, peateM
and happy, after so many laborious chefs-d'eeuvre, Theophile Giano
reigned, his serene contemplation scarcely troubled by the neceaaj
of writing fcuillctons and bootless criticisms, living face to fate«uk
the calm figure of Goethe. But he who had fought so valiantly "■
the already almost fabled days of romanticism ; those days of enAa-
aiaira and fantasticism, when one swore by a " blade of Toledo,"
wore a doublet for fear of passing for a Philistine, changed one1!
name of Louis into Aloysius; when M. Augu&te Maquet signed husrf
Augustus Mackeat.and Petals Borel, making "lycanthropie 'do insets'
of genius, went to the hangman and said : " Je desirerais, momienrl*
bourrcau, que vous me guilloiin<t»rVj ! —he, Theophile t
on those //Jrrww/nights of old, splendid, black-maned, flouted with *e*
of flaming red la bUise aufrcnl <ie taurtau — a glorious veteran an*, *»
lived in the pride and al>o in the fatigue of past vi
to enter the lists, and using his contempt as a i
difference.

Two other combatants in the "romantic " war, since

../ French Poets.

483

also retired from the fight. Though not old, they appeared so to us,
perhaps because to youths of leTCarjtca all men seem old. Tbt
were the two brothers Antony and Kmile Deschamps. Antony had
written, I Me piece ••■ ith very pure feeling, a transla-

tion of Dante Alighieri : this was a mistake; French verse does not
adapt itself to purposes of translation. Disillusionised, dissatisfied
perhaps with a moderate renown, he resigned himself without bitter-
ness. His brother, Emilc Descv la more celebrated ; by his
Etudts franpises <■.' /, picturesque imitations of the
Romancero which may still be read with pleasure, by his timid
translations of Shakespeare, he l»ad been one of the milder lights of
the fierce romantic dawn.

Now he lived at Versailles somewhat of an invalid, but o
and indulgent to the younger writers whom he received, encourag'
praised — perhaps too indiscriminately, from pure good nature ; if he
allowed talent in them all, it was because he would have so gladly
welcomed their real possession of it ! Advanced as lie irs,

he did not however entirely renounce verse ; on the contrary, he
produced largely— mere trillcs they were now, madrigals for some
fair lady of Versailles, quatrains which he offered to his visitors,
epigrams, not too smartly turned — he preferred tluir lacking point to
having too sharp a on<-. range to say, the longer he lived in

the present century, the more did his mind seem to return towards
the preceding one ; the " romantique " took on an air of the Rtgetuem
of Ixiuis XV. ; the translator of Shakespeare now imitated Dorat .1
Gentil-Bernard. It was a false straining after MpoKab.* lor some
years he had been blind, but far from using this as a point of
assimilation with Homer or Milton, he grew into a holy horror of
anything in individuality which transgressed the limit of the con-
ventional

Thus mildly and amiably he lapsed from the world of letter*, and
we now greet his memory with a smile of recognition. Still some
former maitrtt strove to pursue their paths, succeeding but incom-
pletely. Auguste Barbier, who had sounded so triumphant a fanfare
in the sonorous ' only a lain! echo of bim

Victor 1! :•, the pantheistic poet, quitted the shadow of the

great trees where his fairest reveries "ere wont to abide, to tread the
beaten track of some village hixtoriettc.

In reality, three poets only, :,t:ll young, were in full possession of
the will and facu roduce ; they alone, innovators, though

reverent of the school whence they had sprung, continued the gr
lyrical traditions of Frame; and these were Theodore dc BeaAQbt,

1 1 a

484

The Gentleman's Magazine.

I — Leeontede

Charles Bautlelaire, and Leconte dc Lisle. Solitary

file where he worshipped but one god — the Beautiful — I
I. isle, eminent rather than renowned, dwelt in the lonely height of
bii dream, Invoking nor.e bat Vulmiki and Homer in the brautTpf
his antique poems.

Charles Baudelaire, already delighting choice spirits, asloodtd
the multitude ; he pasted for .something demoniacal, while awiuitg
recognitirm as divine.

Rasher and more familiar, Theodore dc Banvillc flung ose*-
handed his glittering jewels around him. His was a light M qt
nould lie closed to, and. half-amused at the meteoric part he pliwd.
he left, midway the rue k of vnudcvillists and writers of operettas sW
melodramas, the brilliant track of some demigod passing through the
night.

But around these poets who else wrote good verse at the tine?
Augustc Vacqucric was devoted to drama, and with eyes tuned
towards the " Isle " whence the " Master " was to return, seemed »
have forgotten strophe and rhythm : he lias remembered them !
Louis Bouilhct too seldom quitted the stage ; Josephin Soab
kept silence in the provinces after having given to the world I
"Sonnets humoristiqucs," some of which were ea
Dierx was as yet unrcvcalcdj Sully- Prudhomme was an
name ; Francois Coppdc had not received his call. Alone I
the youths, Alphonse Daudet had issued his delicate "Amoureuses;"
but the Roman was destined to absorb him all too soon, leaving a '
regret
is, what flourished then was worn-out romance and
rbj med elegy ! Launching paper skin's in saucer-seas |
lated the celestial lake of Elvira, shedding again with calf's i
divine tears of Alfred dc Mussct, a few men — oh, may their

eep !— believed themselves to be poets. Of art there *U
suspicion, of style and rhythm no care. Were there even tend
true emotion, in a word, passion ? Never. Nor did one of then <
tndy possess a single one of those qualities to which they |
to sacrifice all others.

Yet, sad to relate, complicity on the part of the press and i
qucnt delusion of the public procured a certain phantom of i
for these wretched improvisatores. It had become dt ion ,
what evil this pretended Aw* godt has worked in France !— to J
vague strophes in which any mother exclaimed in no matter
patois, " Mon pauvrt tnfant ! mon pauvrt enfant I" or else <
didactic pieces, in *hich the author talks about humanity in a U»

Recent French Poets. 485

gage which at best has nothing of human. This was sent/, thi
kk, wc were told, and consequently it was fine ; and wc shudder to
iink what might have been the scarcely remote future had there not
■sen at this juncture a group of young bards, prompt in their attack
ipon these workers of ruin, and firm in their defence of the golden
ibdd of Preni b poetry.

Glatigny it was who, coining in the midst of this concert of

sobbings and exclamations, first brought back the glad ring of genuine

rhrme, clear and true U the ring of sequins struck together. The

itquins due for his rhymes, however, Albert Glatigny was far

torn having in his pocket, even in the smallest coinage. The

Prrisiin poet was as poor as the country comedian. In vain some

of his friends — and notably Theodore de Banville, ever ready to

aiccour the deserving — strove to encourage and to help him : he

but tlC suiUrnl m ttfencft He who in the depth of winter

pped under the cold stars on a canot picked up in a neigh-

field ; who one night had no clothing but a thin and tawdry

I costume ; he was not the man to bewail now a dinner the less

rent the more in the sleeve of his well-worn coat. Bad as

might be. he could look back to worse days. Seemingly

1 he strode about Paris with those wonderful stilt-like legs as

Told; rain or sunshine, it mattered not which, and easy or anxious

t heart, it was ever the same joyous, familiar Albert Glatigny, full of

nr.y stories, laughing away the buttons of his waistcoat— as long as

there remained any — brimful of passion for his art, of enthusiasm for

i masters, of love for all women, of content with all men ; occasion-

1 borrowing " cent sous," but honing to repay it tenfold ; withal

rsoul of probity, with a pride that spoke up on an emergency, and

1 courage such that, the day of his first duel, when his adversary's

rhizxed past his car, remembering his provincial career, he cx-

aitned : " Jc serai done siffle" a toutcs mes premieres ! " — One

ce. in fact, sustained him through all evil days : thanks to the

iity of a friend— and here I would thank M. Ernest Rasetti in

i name of all who loved Glatigny — he had the triumph of seeing

a print the manuscript that had so over-filled that pocket next to his

bean the day of his arrival in Paris : he published " Les Vignes

Folks."

Certainly this first collection, fantastic, violent, almost disorderly,
ihowing too visibly direct influences from Theodore de Banville
sometimes Charles Baudelaire, cannot compare with the
finished later by Glatigny when, grown graver, less from
suffering than from the present consolation of a tender and

486

The Gentleman s Magazine.

chdis

devoted wife, he was able to focus the forces of his heart and bail
i cms which approached much nearer to the kind of perfection ti
which his muse iraj filled to aspire. Still, at the epoch of its pubfc
cation, this volume, free from the silly sentimentality which
figured the poetry of the moment, and revealing an artist emuli
true and noble forms, could not but appear remarkable, and \
in fact It became and will ever remain an honourable landmarks
the poetical history of these later years.

Now, about the same time another young man, M.
Mendes, just arrived from the provinces, and whose few
verses already published here :ind there had scarcely sufficed to I
him known, founded a literary rental called "La Revue Font;
Albert Glatigny went to sec him, taking with him " \x%
Follcs": an inscription in pencil ran thus : —

:< i let vert que dans m« courses
J'ni fnits, au liasard du chemin ;
Ainsi que Von boit I'eau des sources
Dans le crenx brfllunt de n main.

The young provincial read the book and was astonished
arc a poet," said he on the morrow, when he saw Glatigny.
you are another," replied the latter. Having exchanged these i
the two young men pressed cadi other's hands, and this was I
mencement of the group which they were destined to in

II.

THE BtmS,° THE " IMPASSIBLES," AND TIITt

" PARNASSIEN- "

I have spoken of " La Revue Fantaisiste." It is not <
certain alttndrissement that I evoke the souvenir of that delicate I

iH recucil, so fairly printed on the choicest of papers, '
pntiy, almost coquettish salmon-coloured cover. What hopes'
founded upon that Utile offering to the public : A mere youth!
it ... Lined to me that to speak to that public of Art, to tell)

refizUy wrought prose, to sing love-ditties in the best of
was a sure means of conquering its enduring favour. Alas, " I-a Rent
Fanuitiste" had but an ephemeral life. Spite of the lympatkjit
elicited, of the constant collaboration of Theophile Gautier. TV*
dorc dc Banville, Charles Baudelaire, Leon Gozlan, Phikahl
B |n r, Arsene lloussayc, Augustc Vacquenc, &c &c, i: i
after a year's existence, without having broken through the ii
of the public To-day the collection has become precious, i
unsaleable one- franc brochures are not to be bought for a

Recent Fratfh Pa 487

For the rest, the attempt then to (MM without resulu

■ In I lii "JftrnMifhiiliriiMli "lln jiililii in hition

of tome of its now favourite writers , it was there that Leon Chulcl

1 ed his earliest romances ; there that Jules Clare tie {to-day

one of the most prolific of our novelists and playwrights) attracted

on by a<i a uisic entitled "Lcs Amours d'uncCe'toinc;"

there that Alphonsc Daudet and many oflx -thencd growing

reputations. And still more to our present puqxwe, the "petite

Revue," as it ma called) brought together many of the poets that form

; of our present study, and it r> ial to nickname

" fantaisistes ,; bo, in tb< beet melodrama and

like Andre" Cheriicr, or

ti a la Ronsard. Thus, of all the q>il 'vred on us

same or irony, that of " fantaisix .nd in

u Certain sense it was BOl iU-choten; Neither Albert Glntigny, nor

Atl .mi, nor I myself had then clearly defined before

our eye* the ideal which we were soon to follow. An iircsittible

love for verse and a profound contempt for the false and the trivial

were in our hearts, but we had not as yet formed any precise theory,

noT recognised any guidance but that of a vocation almost instinctive ;

■ ided taste for the strange and the new, with a somewhat

tinpm | rk of expression, the consequence of youth, combined

to give much that was "fantastic '" to our work. Little by Httk

number in ideas took form. Drawn towards

one another by real community of instinct, we were at first three or

four : we soon became eight or ten, unequal, doubtless, in talent, but

alike in enthusiasm, and out of our combined readings, and our long,

ardent discus - grew for us a line of intellectual conduct

undcviatingly. It was particularly

in the house of Lccontc dc Lisle, who received us with paternal

hospitality every week, that our group finally formed and cemented

complete splendour of his genius, which participates

both in inspiration and " rule ; " by the lofty purity of his life and

counsels, Lccontc dc Lisle was the very master we needed, to check

our tendencies to exaggeration 3nd the purely fantastic, and warn us

10 keep within the rigid limits of Art Those Saturdays at Lccontc

dc Liik's were out jours defile. Soon as evening arrived we entered

the modest and peaceful drawing-room, where there awaited us a

cordial shake of the hand, and this question, calculated to encourage

for days to come : " Avcz-vous bien travaille cette scmainc ? "

Then around the fire in winter, or in summer at the open window

n all its evening glitter, we d thoughts and

488

The Gentleman's Magazine.

ninliitions, we talked of the older poets, we indulged in dreams of
those to come, making a tacit engagement to remain eternally faithful
to our own chosen ideal ; and while we conversed, the master's young
wife presiding at the tea-table relieved the gravity or oceasic
dryness of our discussions by the softening influence of a I
presence. Oh what precious evenings those were ! That
room was our refuge from sadness, from disappointment ; all
behind as its door opened to us, and forgetting whatever of bitterness
may have crept into our hearts during the week, it seemed to
youthful imaginations that there we put on fresh robes of peace
purity. It was Louis Mdnard. himself a poet and subtle in
of the poets and philosophers of pagan antiquity, who first
mc to Lccontc dc Lisle. Already a few lovers of verse frcqucntd
his circle, and these early disciples of his became my friends. Thiti<r
came Lc'on Dicrx, a native of Mauritius, like the master himsdf:
gentle, somewhat grave, with an almost feminine timidity, he i
but little, listening and thinking. Jose- Maria de HercViia, on i
other hand, was brilliant, talkative, with a dash of the fantastic
Villiers de 1'IIe-Adam gave the reins to his characteristic I
with its occasional nebulous glimpses into a world of strange i

Sully- Prudhomme joined us sometimes, but with a slight
reserve ; already, in the days of the " Revue Fantaisiste," I had met
with this young poet, but too late to enrol him as a collaborate!*,
the review ceasing to appear on the day fixed for the insertion
his first verses, At Leconte de Lislc's also we met
I.emoyne, Armand Sylvestrc, Albert Merat and his friend and alnxnt
brother Leon Valade, Louis Xasier de Ricard, and amongst I
latest arrivals, Francois Coppc'c, my own chosen companion, ana
Anatole France, whose then dawning talent promised a magnificat
destiny.

However, our isolation from the general literary arena, and '
severe tendencies already revealed to the world in articles hoe ad
there, had not failed to irritate considerably the improvieatonal «*i
elegiac school and their natural allies, the rough and ready daflf
journalists. Louis Xavier de Ricard having let fall, in a pubtisW
letter, the sentiment that Art should be "impassible," this wordw
seized upon, repeated and twisted in many different senses, and nud*
to serve as a new byword for the school which was forming. We W
been " Fantaisistes,"wc were now " Impassiblcs." In reality what wd*
we, and whither were we tending?

We thought then, and we still think, that in a general sense the to-
tatives and results of the admirable poetical revolution of iSjosdfict

Recent Freneh Poets.

489

far the needs of the present age ; none of us had the folly to suppose that
any poet would come to change again materially the face of French lite-
rature. If our modern poetry had boasted only as its initiators Alphonse
dc Ijmartine and Alfred dc Musser, the necessity of a further renova-
tion would indeed have been clear, and why? Because both these
truly inspired singers were above and before all things personal ; they
hive left luminous tracks behind them in the history of their art, but
tiese tracks arc not roads for others to follow in, save by an abnega-
tion of intellectual independence j they opened up no common route,
»od consequently the future proceeds not from them. Admirable
focaarc they, not masters. But Victor Hugo had arisen, and if, like
tie other two, he is always himself, that self is one which at the same
time belongs to all other men ; his personality is that of the general
Mid— his genius, so prodigious in power that it stands out incom-
in the splendid field of French authorship, owes its chief
to his own universality. Combining so much of this cen-
tury in his own personality, it is but natural that he should be its
ucprcme poetical master.

Thus, it being clear that no notion of reacting against the revolu-
tion effected by Victor Hugo was present to our minds, what, it will be
asked, did there remain for us to attempt ? I would answer as follows :
Victor Hugo with one powerful stroke of his upward-soaring wings
bars from the trammels of scholasticism and gave thought its freedom.
Ht re-created the ode, and he raised the novel into a sort of modem
from the carcase of extinct Tragedy he called forth the living
he quadrupled the number of words in what was called " la
hngue noble,'' exhuming expressions of the naive past, and accepting all
was forcible in modern diction ; finally, he achieved the complete
of our admirable French verse, that verse foreshadowed
ty Ronsard, aimed at by Corneille, dreamed by Che'nier ; that verse,
ijr understood perhaps by foreign ears, and inconsiderately con-
which, supple, varied, comprehensive as that of I.ucan or
Homer, b crowned by a rhyme so brilliant, sonorous, and infinite in
ll» richness, that perhaps, for effects in relation to the characteristics
tf our language, it is unequalled in any other poetry. In one word,
Meter Hugo was the Columbus of a new poetical world, and this wc
"Wh saw and proclaimed. But, said wc, on account of its very
tonensity, there is room in the new intellectual continent for all
efforts and all enterprises : each one according to his measure
•*Uy there freely manifest his thoughts and accomplish his work.
*lc who works in the sphere of Lamartine or of De Mussel seems
to become one with his master, for the reason that the sphere being

490

The Gentleman's Magazine.

that of a personality is necessarily restricted ; in the great orbit
described by Victor Hugo, on the contrary, all degrees of pinoai
soar or fly at their ease and in their own Trurnnrr To reon
to our first comparison, is it imitating Columbus to go to bu
America and there discover a virgin forest? Ti -awtr,

to create in the immensity of poetic space opened by View
Hugo, was the only legitimate and possible dream, and mcs
indeed was our > hicf aim.

I say our chief aim, for we had also another more immedatr. It
was imperative to make an end of the detestable poetical srSan
reinstated in France under favour of the absence of the pt*
master, and which had, be it said with shame, conquered the pabik
esteem. From this point of view, if not innovators, wc were «rj
necessary renovators. Wc proclaimed that the subject of a poem is K
everything; that emotion or utility is no irrefutable proof of boon;
that to weep or to teach are not enough to make a great poet. An*
confident of well-placed admiration, fortified by study, strong owe
goodness of our cause, wc dared to call the pale elegiacs and 11
badly-spelling humanitarians back to reverence for pure Art ad
sacred Form.

Already in several journals, as for instance, " L'Art," founded by
Louis Xavicr dc Kicard, these ideas had been put forth ; it lh<
same time that some volumes of verse, " I^es Vigocs FoUct " *f
Albert Glatigny, and " Philomela " of Catulle Mendfes, indicated the
paths to be trodden by the new poets. But we all felt that sbr*
* utercil efforts were doi enough, and rinct wi now IbraiedftflMH
and homogeneous group, the project occurred to roe — and it isriA
pardonable vanity I record it — that a collective publication
be formed which should reveal, by sufficient fragments, each
<cvcral individualities, and at the same time our common
ideal.

1 1 was thus that appeared in weekly numbers " Le
contemporain, ruutil d< vers nouvtaux? Louis Xavicr de
who greatly approved of my enterprise, < <1 largely W

publication : and after a few numbers issued at our own
Alphonsc Lemerrc took it in hand and ensured its xucot
before the undertaking was ripe, the expected hostilities
We were re-christened ; the " Fantaisistcs," the " 1
became now the " Parnassiens," and who shall say what
levelled at us. Who were these young men professing tt
French, to write verse correctly, to rhyme with the help '
consonant, at a time when a linguistic inaccuracy in a sonnd

am i

Recent Frouk Potts. 491

admitted as a proof of sensibility, when a thirteen-foot alexandrine
was complacently tolerated, if it only expressed something like Tous
la hommes s«nt frb-es, or la terrt (curne auleur Ju sola'/, when
" spectre " as a rhyme to " sceptre " would pass muster, provided
the lines so terminating were devoid of rhythmic harmony ! The
critics on reading our poems went about like stricken geese repeating
La Foorme. ..././ FeSrmtt .... and as to our subjects, they fur-
nished small journalism with laughing-itocks for more than a year.
What ? we were not satisfied to shed our tears over a family grave !
It was 001 enough for us to see a little child blow its nose as it went
to school, to be seized at once with a d< pir.uion! We went

audaciously to the pure realm of dreams, to that of intellect, 1
history, to religion, or to legends for the themes of our lyrical varia-
tions ; all this was incredible. One of us, for a poem of a bun
lines based on Hindoo mythology, was actually harassed and pit
to pieces during more than that number of days ; and the almost
universal conclusion of witty critics and elegiac rhymstcrs was that
we were collectively devoid of intelligence and feeling, while our
verses were equally so of thought and passion, and that, in one word,
all with us was sacrificed to " form." 1 can almost, indeed, remember
an occasional epithet of/crmtsfes as applied to us, which, as a French
expression, was more than curious.

Now, it generally happens, when many fools arrive at one convic-
tion, that it is a wrong one, and so it was in this case. Not that I
defend the worth of all the poems inserted in " Le Parnassc
conternporain " ; much mediocre work had, of course, slipped in
along with the good, and even some of the poets who were destined
ultimately to take a high rank, were not very happy in their choice
of fragments to represent them. But t be affirmed, that not

one among us was ever actuated by so absurd an ambition as to
withdraw from poetry two of its most essential elements of beauty :
thought and passion. No, what we desired to banish from poetry
were humanitarian commonplaces, the sort of truths dear to M. dc
la Palissc, foet, false sentiment of that sickening kind which weeps
at everything, and thinks it does poetical work in dwelling pathetic-
ally on a dead bird, or the dog that follows the poor man's funeral.
Doubtless and incontestably. pity, tenderness, love above all arc
eternal and sublime sources of inspiration ; but in themselves tiny
are not enough: they must be expressed, brought Into " lief by
novelties of treatment, by just and lovely imager)-, and finally
through the means of a perfect style, rhythm, and rhyme— in one
word, Ft)

492 The Gentkman'i Magazine,

One thing at least " I-e Pamasse contemporain " succeeded in
doing for our cause, in spite of all obloquy : it affirmed clearly oar
aims, and defined the nature of our efforts. Thenceforward, whether
approved ot not, ire stood before the public as a collective force
i tig in a given direction, a compact literary group or " school."
It was something in Rich a period of indifference t>i
established one's poetical ea Moreover, a few literal tp]

in the general public ot" letters had taken note of our tentative, and
their encouragement served to strengthen us to proceed. From the
date of " l.e Parnasse contemporain " we have all striven with

iur and without relaxing : the collective publication, become less
a necessity, has only been resumed at long intervals, as a work of
supererogation, or to prove that the primitive union was not
abolished ; but severally, each member worked with individual v
and cneTgy, so that work has followed work, numerous, varied, ytt
always faithful to the noble first profession ; and thus, while we
ourselves constitute a group, our books already form a considerable
kibrary.

But finally, as to results, have we triumphed? In some sort.
We have assuredly caused lachrymose and didactic art to fall
into discredit. At the >.. raillery has grown silent. Sev.

among us, as Francois Coppee, Sully-Prudhommc, and others, are in
full enjoyment of well-earned laurels ; and those who have
obtained the suffrage of admiration arc at least treated by the critic

attention which is often impartial. The future alov
true, will judge us definitively. But the period of exaggeration on
both siil. ainly over ; and therefore I shall now be able — after

having traced the " Icgcndc " of their tumultuous adolescence— to
study with sufficient calmness, one by one, these new poets in t1
early maturity.

III.

THE WORKMi . II F.I R WORKS.

Lion Die

has ever existed a nun mot. and

■ iimp!. :<-Iya poet than Leon Dicrx. Poetry is the unction

of his mind, and verse the only possible expression of his thoughts ;

ro la Maarititu. II. :.imo of mwi /Wawt if

/WVi iii nor votome

■ i iht title /taWfl _■). AUo » eooHdy pfQtfaotd »illi jroU iTCrti,

La I it promt corrt. ob of * t

tot-. La Amantl, , ' .onsc Lraterrc | Tt.U vnlume

*M*ppca>c pnseat arrjel

Rttcnt Fremh Poets.

the base realities around bin are as things lie ieei not, i •-, if I.
them, it is from a height that renders them vague, confused, with
their uglinesses toned down by distam C . OB the other
that is lovely and pure, the innocence of D oity Oi

heroes, the proud sadness of the vanquished, arc like the atmosphere
his soul breathes serenely in, a realm of inner life which has the
infinite softness of moon-haunted woodlands or ran inland seas.
If human eyes could look into the mysterious land of thought, there

it be seen passing through the twilight vbtas of this poet's mind.
pairs of white-robed visions hand in hand, with low-toned speech of
regret or hope made rhythmical by the strokes of some distant bell

nc mellowed across the mists of a v.i

Can anyone be insensible to the penetrating harmony of the
" Soir d'Octobre," deliciously cadenced as the winds of autumn— a
poem in which the dry. loves of the put flit befbn

ling and returning in persistent rhythmical rotation? Yel it
must be avowed that so profound an effort to render the dreamiest
side of things by wrought-out tendernesses of harmony ami ei
sion, docs not escape an occasional cloudiness of idea and indecision
of phrase, and if these characteristics constitute, perhaps, an addi-
tional charm in " Lc Sou- d'Octobrc," " Lcs Filaos," " Nuit dc Juin,"
and " Lcs Remous," there arc other poems in which they arc less
happily met with. Leon Dicrx lias long merited the reproach of not
presenting poetic thoughts or images with sufficient incUivencss.
Warned of this failing by lib friends and by his own artistic con-
sciousness, the author of "Levrcs closes" deliberately combated
his natural tendency, and to such effort we owe a large number of
pieces in which his inspiration, while losing nothing of the dreamy
charm, which is its origii ilu,, pins in precision of utterance and
robustness of form. There are few poems so perfectly conceived
and executed as the following:—

'.KUS.

At Jems' voice dead I jnrtu awoke ;
toad a moment in the |J
0, wiih tiie yravu <. a cloak,

He daggered furaat>i i*n tomb.

it, alone, lie walked ial i Dm I
C rotting the o 'g*.

In quest ■ ■■'■■ one he hod known.

Silent, alone, in ceaseless wandering*.

Beneath lb* deadened pallor of Mi brow

Hw eyas ni> lightnings gi»e ; nor, with i glance—

494

The Gentleman s Magazine.

At though Eternity that held him now

Drew tin- I>Kik inward — chanted hit countenance.

Sombre as madness, with uncertain feet
As a weak child'*, he went, or like one dared
In an unnatural air. Along the street
Folk Mrted u i" cum tod Mood amued.

For knowing nothing of to hum

Of earthly tones whose Matt could no more reach
iii.. inapt nre-ttrtdcen tod, be |uuwd tlieni dumb.
With fearful things to tell that found no speech.

Sometimes he shook with fever, stretched and stirred
An eager hand as to address that throng ;
But unseen lingers stayed the mystic v.
Of tonic remote to-morrow on his tongue.

Then a great terror came on young and old

In Bethany; the horror of the eye*

Of him who wandered through their midst made cold

And MiBtd I lie stoutest hearts in drear suimiw.

Ah, whu lhail tell thiat infinite unknown ;
Rejected i>t the grave that k«\* if. dead,
Clad for the grave, tent living back again
To relive life and thine own step, retread I

Oh. net v.: b i -ii.ii tSptol .ill the Ion
Man yearns to know hut >h i .ver-awed,

Couldit thou be human— feel the care once more
Fret in that heart where late the death -worm gnawed?

Scarce li.i.l ilc.uh's darkness given thee hack to day.
Than, passing spectral through the infuriate crowds.
Caught by no griefs or joys along the way,

i. in kOCM new gloom itself enshroud*.

Thy second life leaves nothing hut the track
Of those reluming footsteps, and a tale
Appalling on men's Una. Did Death reach back
With stronger grip a second time, or {til?

How often, when the shadows lengthening grow,
A vast Form in the distance, wert thou teen,
With lifted arms against day's dying glow.
Calling some tlow death-angel?— or between

locks • i the burial groood.
Threading ihy way, heavy with speecblc* paia,
And envy of the dead, who, dying, found
Peace in their graves and came not forth again 1

This pocru, in which novelty of subject is exempt from all <
singularity of treatment, ever)' line, clear, strong, and fine in i
contributing to the impression of beauty aimed at throujj":
is not an exception in the range of Leon Dierx's w.

mi l-'ycuii: 495

ginality of thought is found in " ! i Icar-

ness of expression and imagery in " I.i ilups more

of dreamy depth in " Dolorosa Mater," and everywhere the same
impressive harmony of word and rhythm. It may be safely affirmed
that Leon Dicrx, whose talent grows purer and more robust I
work increases in volume, is already one of the fairest ornaments of
the young poetical generation in France. Dtdct dtcus nostrum.

II.
Frantois CoJ>/^t.1

Tins poet became celebrated when quite young, and suddenly.
" Le Passant," a delightful poetic dialogue, given at the Qi

I enthusiasm, and the public has ever since looked
with favour upon Francois Coppee. It is not without a certain pride
that I record :! -.cd me earliest unfolding* of thfa

: talent, and perhaps exercised some influence over then,
following remfo tent assertion.

It was in the i Brill r days of our group (some of us were air
partially known to the poetical publ 1, one morning,

a copy of verses entitled " Lea Fleonj Mortclles," enclosed in an
envelope. Before perusing them I noted two ,'points : the
were m-ritten in a remarkably fair hand, and they were unsigned. I
nd found them charming. True, they showed some in

ncy to the elegiac, which was altogether anti
lie to me ; but their freshness of idea, aptness and novehv d
imagery, and their felicity of expression, evinced clearly a vocal ion
to the Muse which needed only determined application to develope
into a true- ud pure gift. I read the poem to my friends the
evening ; it was generally approved of, and each of us set about
the author. Various suppositions were made, and dis-
cussed with animation. There was in fact only one present who did
not join in it, a young man who had but recently been admitted into
our circle, introduced by the Hungarian poet Emmanuel Glaser. One
divined a rare and delicate intelligence from the clean-cut

' Bom in !'*iU in 1843. Hai published successively : Ij Ktliyuairt (:K66);
L*i Iniimiih (1S6S,; Let Pmhui SffJtrnn (1869)1 Lei Uumktt (1S71
C.iAier Reus* ( 1874) 1 OlMtr (18;' Lt Pauani, a comedy in

vera*, performed at the Odcon ; Lei Deux Dtuituri, at the Comc'die Franchise j
CAtombmit, ilthC Gym m, ibe latter pic«

being a comedy in proac written In M. Around d'Artois.

two grand dramas in verse. La Guerre dt Cent Am, and .

1 p be produced shortly, and L'/dfJU pmJant U Si/gr, • romance in
pro* . year 118791, let RkUt et Its HJ/gitt.—K. (

496

TIte Gentleman's Magazine.

■res, the refined tmile, ami the thoughtful air, tinged perhaps with
sadness, of the newcomer ; but as he talked seldom on the subject
of poetry, we irom gucs I poet; and all we knew of

him consisted in the facts that he was twenty-four yean of age, and
held a position in the " Minis tire des Finances." Rising, however,
he took me aside, and with some embarrassment confessed himself the
author of ' * Lea. Fleurs Mortelles :" " C'cst moi, mais jc vous prie dc ne
pas le dire ! " As may be easily supposed, I did precisely the con-
trary, and the new | varmly acclaimed.

The next day he set himself courageously to work at my side.
What was wanting in his talent vre lud not hesitated to tell him, and
he la ready ; he was born a poet, but he had yet to become

an artist. Endowed with a firm will and rare in made rapid

progress ; all the principles of modem art, with science of composi-
tion ud form, were acquired in the space of a few weeks ; and he
led to be my pupil became at once my ma-

Thi< anecdote was perhaps unnecessary here, but, under the
influence of a gratitude which friendship exaggerate*, Fran','
Coppdc frequently dwells upon these reminiscences himself and would
have regretted its omission.

" Lc Rcliquairc" appeared. Nothing is more delicious than the
short pieces of this collection— somewhat sad, at times perhaps
morbid, but always characterised by a tenderness of thought and
expressio penetrates and dwells in the heart. Ix-t us take at

random the following as a specimen . —

Tiir. Gkanuaus.

(Ul

ptf the village i» in late July,
Uvid cloudi already sometime »ince
Drought threat of Motrin dp-brewing, in the nest,

'. fear* for harrcM to thi in.

So now 'lit harvc*! tine, ami vintage toon,
Tbe scythes are sharpened and the bonu <kan swept,
And reaper* meeting joyously at dawa
Co forth to gala days amongst the grain.

Now all tkii while the grandams left behind

.invhine »l • : oor*,

A alaeT aopporting hands and quivering chin,
Foe labour crippled them long year* ago.
In hoanely

• -.itift. and a kerchief gaudy yet

, they tit all day
in a bench, content with ne'er a «

unlet! (he quiet anile
iluei loth*

Recent French Poets. 497

Thai gilds the old church tower, and makes N rrj
The ears of corn their sons have gone to reap.

Ah, His the bestdorcd time with these old dames!

The fireside stories of long winter eves

Scarce suit them now. The grandsire, their good man,

I* dead, and one gets lonely Ivcing old.

The daughter cannot leave her washing tub,

Ttic «on-in-law ij busy at the vine.

*Tb lonesome, true; ami yW HOl a*J K bad

In summer when the bright «in warm* you well.

Not long ago they had the child to rock.
And the old heart* of country folk boat slow

And lime them with the cradle's easy pace.

Mm now the babes arc grown ; the youngest birds

Have ||M 1!" u "in;;-. I MB) "< l> cares no more.

Si the old dime .lnlilren igkifl iliem«-lvcs,
Hate lo« their second ehililli.x. I'. pajtfaM now.

They might have turned the spinning-wheel, but Time

Over their faded eyes has drawn a veil.

Anil their thin fingers wear)- of I In- ilm-nl ;

For those same hands of taajBs, boss PrOTChtd with age.

Mare all too nlieri BBJag tin- dbttff on,

Making the last sad garment, fair and white,

Foj loved ones whom they buried long ago.

Yet not long poverty, the death of flocks.
The eldest son made conscript; rmi tin- ycr-.r
Of dreadful famine following scanty crop*,
V-.r ".hanklesa tasks nnmurniii-n^l. done;
Not even the fretling when the eldest girl
In Mivirr l:ii away fnrgiil 111 write,

'houutnd woes that make poor mothers weep
Silently in the night; not even the sign

: heaven when God's own lightning struck the mills ;
(fa now that voice that speaks from all the past
In yonder quiet ground against the church.
Where between schools the eliil.Irrn play with flowers
Twined around tnnuy a well-known CfOM of wood, —
Not one DOC all of th.-.e eie shook their faith
Ni:r turned their Christian and heroic hearts.

And now their hearts' own time || come for rc-.t :
And nothing seems more piMMBl tBU to sit
In summer on a stone bench in the sun,
Watching with quiet joy the waterfowl.
Blue heads and green heads, splashing about the silt,
Catching a snatch of singing now and then
From busy scenes around the washing-tubs,
Counting the wagon hones come to drink.
Their child-like smile and tremulous white brows
Speak candour and ec.ni.ut, as though past |
kt-COtlV. »«>. 1786. K K

498 The Gentleman's Magazine.

Vex them no more, and Uu

And find that 'tis enough to hare *t length,

After all else for ever put away.

For only solace of their fourscore yean,

The kindly «un, erer the peasants friend.

Very shortly after " Le Rcliquairc," Francois Coppee published
• I . h liiniu .," tender and subtle settings of Pnri«an love, redolent
ol the boudoir, and in which the simplest wood-flowers exchange
their fragrance for the dinging kiss of beloved lips. It may be
affirmed that pages m<: re never written, while

niou vu in them brought (o a perfection astonishing to
the ablest handlers of rhythm and rhyme. To this reatfit others
diverse in character and qualities succeeded, full of such things
as "L'Attcntc," or that powerfully-wrought poem, "La Benedic-
tion," one of the most robust narratives I know of; and at the
present moment the reputation of Francois Coppee, popularised by
theatrical sticcesscs, is one of the most solidly established in modem
literature.

I may not, however, ignore the reproach frequently urged against
our illustrious comrade by criticism which is perhaps somewhat
cynical. The author of " Le Passant " is accused of condescending
too readily, especially of late, to the level of common tastes, ax by a
sort of gratitude for the popular success which he has so constantly
I njoyed ; and some persons go so far as to insinuate that Francois
Coppee was always in reality a bourgeois poet, whom the influence
and example of friends and masters induced for a time to seek
certain elevations of thought and manner, and who simply, and with-
out malice aforethought, returns into his natural self, the moment be
is left alone, widi the superadded confidence gained by success. In
this there is both injustice and error. Beyond a doubt, Francois
Coppee committed a mistake when he depicted It banc, whither resort
irleurou and \a&fayu, an episode too redolent of Paul de Kock ;
in the lovely poem, " L'Angelus," two or three vulgar details occur ;
in " l.es I lumblcs " we must deprecate such pieces as " La Noui
and, above all, "Lc Pel :.>ntrouge," howev

author's keen observation and I "nstantcare for dignity and form may
be urged in the I ncontestably there are some pages which

we could well spare from the work of Francois Coppee ; but why
judge the whole

they i |y compensated for b] id many othet compos

which are irreproacltablc f If, indeed, we blame some pi

tie too realtor, we cannot but accept the greater

<U French i

499

number of them as pure cJufs-tTituvrt, in which familiarity is ex.
.iy allied until poetry. Judge for instance of this one : —

Sometime* beside my fire I u« and brood
Oil a l< wood.

i>ng *ad days of dismal winter through
The ne*ti hang empty, desolate ne.ls whence flew
The birds lost yemr : winds rode them to and fro.
Ah, how the birds must die in the winter snow I
And yet, when time of violets comes round,
Their delicate 001 BOt strew the ground

Where we may n I the Apffl I

Say, do the birds 'hen, Wde themselves to die ?

_l but yesterday that Francois Copptfe published " L'Exildc,"
: delicious love-Liedcr, of which the two following are not by any
means the «wetl

[The translator had the pleasure of reviewing "L'Exilcc" in the
Atktnccum on its a| ; I in that journal he attempted a

rendering of " l.cs Trois Oi-.> 1 reproduced here with a

slight modification.]

Tii* Thxib Bii

I said to tin ■ canst fly above me,

< -ii where the corn-fields are.
And find me the flower that will waltc her lore me :

The dove said—- 1

I said to the eagle, Heaven in before thee,

ii i|p i K to •■ -ii ha tod ''■■■■ ;
Go fetch me the lire of Jove, I implore thee :

The eagle said— Tis too high.

I said to the vulture. Tear ■ ■ >ur

: love in my heart ; to lone fate
Leave only what has escaped hei power:
The vulture said — 'Tis loo late.

II. 1 III I III :

BlUaUafi I *M licr linger,
l . . hi r .mile as of old:

,-d one's finger
of gold!

I I shall tied her .
I wait an.!
Pnr all that she I her

K K 2

5oo

The Gentleman's Magazine.

Nay. b«t life erowa loo dreary.

Heavy the bean and bead ;
O oil* ! I am a-weary :

Make toe a coffin of Wad 1

Finally, " I-cs Rccits Epiqtics," lofty of inspiration and powerful
of treatment, arc fresh in our recollection. Space is limited, and I
can therefore only quote one of these poems, and that not the finest,
but the shortest : —

Tin m or the Sword.

B iron-browr! I ':•■ I from Palestine,

Lying one night awake beside his wife

Hilda, Sucno's daughter, in her dream

Low muttering, he heard her speak a name.

DM, his whose bad* adjoined hi» own.

Jealousy > her false,

And, taking down hi* sword, half drew the blade.

I hi lo ! the candour of thxl sleeping face.

Half-hid in wealth of chestnut hair, and lit

By lingering fond looks of the moon, arrests

i and 'i hi ntato, ami now, rough lord

Though he is feels love a moment more than honour.

Vet sure waa Cunti Ul Ml had hcanl aj

Then (Juntr took counsel of his sword — thai sword

Hil fathers handed down invincible.

He set it up, half naked as it was.

Before the crucifix, tad dm M spake :—

" O sword, my sword. O trusty African,
Rebaptised in the blood of .Saracen'
So lately, speak I resolve me now ! My wife
Low muttering in her dream pronounced a r

name whose lands are joined unto my own ;
I fear ber false, but yet I am not sure.
Resolve me now ; I know that treachery
Aye found thee fatal, and my t.m-\ fair fame
I trust in thee, since thou hast kept it fair.
Joclge now my wife I thy clear keen look of steel

0 shall read Iter innocent or false j
I know thou would**, not have me lie betide
One mkind less true than thou ;

Whether I strike her now, or strike her not,
Judge therefore tfcos I "

Then, trae ami sure, the sword,
Knowing that, though ber heart ha/I stiffcre.'
Hilda hod never sinned the dreamed -<>f tin

k him whose name the muttered In her dream.
Then generous, yea, and yet at ever true.
Not willio* that the warrior should smite
Like an assassin, sh»t|
The iword of Guntc «l*l back Into the »l

Recent French Poets.

501

III.

yose- Maria de Hiridia}

The Crcs of the sunset, the hue of the cactus-flower, the purples
and all the gold of Paul Veronese or Delacroix, are almost pale
beside the glowing strophes of Jose-Maria de Heredia ! Ask not
from hun the dreamy sadness of l.eon Dii-rx, the familiar grace of
Coppee, die subtle philosophy of Sully PtudhOBUK; horn bcmaih
the burning sky of Cuba, what he has to offer are fierce explosions of
colour. Alike in die poem entitled " l.a Detrcssc d'Aiahuallpa," and
in the sonnets, not very numerous as yet, which deal with huntresses
of Hetnus, whose red hair draggles in the blood of shin beasts, or
li conquerors sailing into the gorgeous sunset in quest of fresh
Americas, he showers chromes, vermilions, and ochres in prodigious
abundance, and of a truth no one excels him in making verbal
sonorities produce luminous bursts of colour upon the mental retina.
Are they, indeed, mere words which he employs ? One might almost
liken hitvene to solid jeweller's work, in which carbuncles, sapphires,
and rubies are gorgeously set by a tkilAll hand.

1 '. IWXIARKSK.

1.* prilait est dc marbrc, oil sous de bouts pot: [1

mini det scigneun tcls qu'en pcinl Titien,
Kt des colliers massifs au poi'i ncien

Kchausacnt la splcndcur de» rouyc* dalrnaliquo.

lis reganlent au !"<<'.<' uitii|UC«,

■ len,
In .11-1 v. ultl
tllncclci 1'itui do men AdriaUqucs.

Kt tandis que I'egaaiin brillant des clival.
Trainc la pourprc «t I'or p.. etcallcrs

JoyemcmciU bai^no. dans la lumicrc hlcuc ;

Indolente et supcrbe. une Dame, 1 recall,
Sc toiinunt a demi dans des flots de brocart.
H au ntgrillou qui lui porte U rpu a

: li« work* of this poet hare not yet been collected into a volume, but will
shortly appear under the tille Lti TrapMti. He lias recently published a
translation of the Jlislsiy of lit C .Vex/ Spain, by Diai del Castillo.

ijicu a

502 The Gentleman s Magazine.

cttMtrt.
J'ai vu patois, ayani l« dd bloa pom email,

I i nitagCI .!.i: :;-~t»t. ou ile pourprc ou de cuivre,
A I'Or.i Meat ■ .ii 1'ceil s'cblourt i les suivre.
Peindre il'un grand blason le celeste vitrail.

Tour cimicr, pour supports, l'heraldique bctail,
Licorne, leopard, alerion ou guivre.
Monsters, giants captif* qu'un coup de rent dclirre.
Eilraussenl 1MB stature e« eabrcnt Irur ;>oitriil.

Cette, :iui champs il<- I'lttr, daru oca combat* ctraaccs
Qm loj noirs Seraphim llvrercnt flux Archangel,
Cct ecu fut gagnc par un baron du cicl.

Ci'iiuiiic ccux <|ui j:nii\ pni.Mt Coaatandai

II pone, en bon Crouch, uu'il aoit George ou Michel,
Le soleil, besani d'or, aur la met de Sinople.

IV.
Atbtrt Mint?

At Courbevoic, one of the islands of the Seine, there is clot
the bridge a little edifice adorned with slender Ionic columns, grtaf
it at a distance the air of part of an antique temple. Why is it there,
a solitary pagan, in the midst of that Parisian suburb with ta*
oarsmen in their striped blouses passing swifdy to and fro all if
long in their light yawls? I know not ; but it has always seemed &>
me that this must be the temple of Albert Mexat's muse; *■■
doubtless, when the shades of evening fall, and the stars glimmer «•
in the sky, thither Hock in sportive troops fauns from the He k
Croissy and naiads of " la grcnouillere,* with offerings of vWt*
not exempt from the odour of poudrt <U riz, to dance to the rhji*
of the latest waltz by Leo DelibeK

Truly, Albert Menu is, above all things, the poet of the Pins"
suburbs, celebrating better than it hxs ever been done that mini***
scenery so sprightly in its . y, those trees that are liketk

forest trees in a fairy piece, those horizons tliat are like scene-paT*
ings, revealing the mysteries whispered by two voices undo 0*
cherry-trees of Montmorency, and the garrulous fun of the p*
gcttes, and the pretty perjuries of rosy lips, that are rosier for a af

1 Has published successively. Avrti, Mai, Juin, 1863, la conjtrif *■
Leon Valade; Let Ckimerei. ffsiti ctmrtnnitt part Aeod/mu Front**; LN*.
tmnett; La Seuzvnirt. lottnrti ; Let Villa de Afartrr, ptftia uaiwiii f
tActtJt'mu AMftttM ; L Adieu, fsvme fttririm ; Au jU de team, itff

Recent French Poets.

503

'vin de bois de caropeche," which usurps the name of "At-
«uil?" Be it said, nevertheless, in spite of the familiarity of his
e, he never descends to the banalities of the " chanson ; " he
« how to extract elegance and poetry out of these " dimanches
eampagne," and, thanks to a truly exquisite artistic faculty, the
iibe$ and Mcudons he celebrates are worthy of an Oarystis.

La Nuir.

Cetait sur la Seine, a minuit,
Lctu.nr il*un dimanclic de fete:
El UcniRival faitalt un lirnil
Qui nous custait un pcu In. t< te.

Deux orchestrcs, l'un -x mi-voix,
L'autrc en reprises plus vibrantes,
Jouaicnt deux danscx i ia fois
Sur da mesurcs diflcrcntes.
Les jupes blanches frixsonnaicn!
Dans cc decor pourtant agrcstc,
Et k: chevaux de bois toumaicm
En musique comme lc rcitc.

Indulgcntc. plcinc de flews.
La nuil, sans en clre plus tu-re.

il les vtrres de coulcura
Am cluiies dans la ri%-iere 1

Et Ton eut ilil, en vc'iitr.
A voir ee spectacle mobile,
Un Songc d'une Nnit d'fete
Chatoyant ct rose, i Mabille.

Iimihle file, iloublc tableau!
Hanicui ici, la-Ins silence,
Et l'obscure fralclieur de I'eau
Soux lc bateau qui sc balance;

Lei hautt pcuplicrs sur les bords
Drcuant leur tcte taciturne,
Et n'e'eoutant que les accords
I lc la j;r:indc rumciir nocturne I

Qiutnd pilircnt les lampions
Et los lampcs, unc par unc,
Les (lots menus que nous coupions
Redevinrent tout blancs dc lunc,

Et le subit apaiscment

Nous labia voir pur et sans voiles

l/e i:i:ii;iiiln|vi.- firmament

1 4 nil. urn! toalM les ctoiles.

however, by a new ambition, Albert Merat has at times
• his escape from the Parisian suburb and started on long and

504

The Gentlemaiis Magazitu.

remote excursions. Climbing the Alp*, he exchanges the stick of
hawthorn, the favourite trophy of pilgrims reluming from Clamart,
for the tourist's staff ; on the laguncs of Venice his " canot " assumes
the allure of the gondola, and he whose ideal was once the little
house with green blinds amid the trees, is seized with lofty
enthusiasm for Italy and her marble cities. What more natural 1
And, indeed, we owe to this fantasy many pages of delightful and
elevated verse. Yet, after all, is it not better for each to work in
own sphere, and can we affirm tliat the lark like song of Albert
Menu is equally fitted to soar ia of unlimited space?

Thanks, doubtless, to the fair muse who continues to reside in the
Ionic temple at Courbevoie, Albert M<:r.u has now returned front
Rome and Florence, and he says, at the eo recent volume : —

Powqaol m'en irais-jc plu-
QlM nc vont lr Inst?

borfna n'lpu licwiin
l»nfcrmer plui ■.I'm. icue*.

df VtroAkji pardon!
Pudon, Rentiers fraij, mousse* Ml

i g4oa

Son ties.

Au pars bleu da beaux fruit* d
Si i'i, f.iii mo chansons demk D
I<c cicl le pint iloux I
Celin qui

(T» kt (ontluiM.)

505

TABLE TALK.

AT this season of the year the newspai>ers are always full of
suggestions as to how to take one's holi< off as possible

and at the minimum rate. It new - to strike those wi

that the very essence of a holiday is comfort, and the absence of
worry about petty details. If :t man of small means has to go to
Switzerland on business I can easily imagine that he is glad to get
there as cheaply as possible, and quite willing to put up with many
inconveniences to save his puree ; but when he b about to go
voluntarily, and for the sake of pleasure, I cannot imagine his doing
anything of the kind- If the tariff is to be always before his eyes
I can't conceive his seeing the mountains to great advantage, nor
indeed, except as a lark — like going to Hampton Court with
greens and a drum — do I understand how anyone can enjoy an
excursion with ninety-nine other cheap-trippers of whom he knows
nothing at all. As tu the beauties of Nature and the solemnities of
Cathedrals being appreciated under such circumstances, that would
argue such powers of mental abstraction as arc incredible. And nine-
tccn-twcnticths of these people who flock to Switzerland have never
seen their own beautiful lakes, nor North Wales, nor Cornwall. The
real fact is that what these good people want is a new experience or
sensation, and something to brag about (including the cheapness)
when they get home. They do not go for a relief to the mind, or
the quiet joys of repose, nor do they need — in the worker's sense— a
holiday at all. My own conviction fthrcjps was that a week's outing
with comfort and freedom from petty cares was worth a fortnight's
cheap tripping anywhere; but no one is wife at all times, and on one
occasion 1 listened to the voice of the charmer in the shape of the
advertisement of a trip to Boulogne from I/ondon by sea. My 0
was to get to Paris, and by taking this London steamer instead of
the train, I found I ihould save about two pounds, and lose no time
upon the double journey. The boat started at midnight, and my
plan was to go to my berth at once, wake at Boulogne at br<
time, and then take the same Paris train as if I had gone vid
Folkestone Tliat, I say, was the theory of this cheap expedition ;
now listen to the practice : I did get to my berth at midnight, and

506 The Gentleman's Magazine.

woke at breakfast time— but not at Boulogne. We were still by the
landing stage in London, there being a thick fog on the river. By
mid-day we got out to sea, but with a strong head wind blowing,
and the fog so thick that wc lay off Margate for thru days. I am
not exaggerating matters in the least ; in ordinary circumstances we
might have risked something to get on, but the ship had some
valuable race-horses on board, and if anything had happened to than
the company would have had to pay for it, so the captain refused
to move. When I remonstrated (which I did [rather strongly ;,
pointed to the back of my ticket on which was printed the words
"wind and weather permitting." On the third day, though there
was a heavy sea running, indignation overcame fear, and I embarked
for Deal in a little boat that lud brought us provisions from shore.
This cost me a ducking and a guinea. 1 n my irritation I had forgotten
dates, and when I landed 1 found it was Sunday, on which <i;iy there
was no train (torn Deal to Dover. I had consequently to lake a
carriage — another guinea. Here was the whole saving of my expedi-
tion gone in two items. Moreover, there was the bill for the three
days' eating and drinking on board ship, wherein I threw away one
of the noblest appetites upon very inferior viands, but which were
sold at anything but an inferior price. When I got to Dover, three
days and a half after date, I found myself about live pounds to the
bad, and by no means at Paris after all. If I ever try a cheap
expedition again — for pleasure — call roc Cook, or what you please.

COMPLAINT lias been made, both publicly and privately, of
statements and tone of the articles on the play of " Edward III."
in the last two numbers of the GaUitman't Magazine. I can only
remind my correspondents that' the writer of the articles is alone
responsible for the statements therein contained. On the cor
of the New Shakspcrc Society arc valued friends and fellow-workers
of my own ; among its members and vice-presidents arc men of the
highest rank in the literature, science, and an of England, whom I
truly honour — Tcnnysonand Browning, Huxley and Lubbock, Leighton
and Dante RossettL From the founder of the society, Mr. FurruV
I have received courtesy tnd help ; and for his labours as a man
among the riverside poor and at the Working Men's College, and as a
scholar in the many societies that he has founded and done such
good work with, I have the highest respect. I heard with pica--
of the starting of the New Shakspere Society, and I tbJi
following statement in its last report is justified by the
committee can fairly call on the society's members to look back •

Tabic Talk. 507

satisfaction on its first six years' work, and to feci that the worth of
it, done in honour of the great name the society bears, was sufficient
ground for them to ask Mr. Robert Browning to take, and for him to
accept, the presidency of the society, so long left vacant ' till one of
oar greatest living poets should see that it was his duty to take it.' "

"IT AVING undertaken as a holiday jaunt a pilgrimage to Chinon
1 JL to see the site on which is 10 be placed the projected monu-
ment to Rabelais, I took the opportunity of looking at the few
memorials of the great reformer preserved in the place of his birth.
These are singularly slight The house in which he is known to have
been born and the chamber in which he is assumed to have first seen
the light are both visible, and have undergone less alteration than
might have been expected. It is but just to say, however, that any
Other room in a fifteenth century house would seem as appropriate
a birthplace for Rabelais as that now exhibited. A portrait which is
preserved in the Maine and adorns the chamber in which the munici-
pality is in the habit of meeting, is apparently not very ancient, and
■ good deal idealised. In this I recognise the same features
which, with a slight clement of caricature infused, arc shown in the
two very similar portraits exhibited at the chateaux of Azay-le-Rideau
and Chenonccaux In the Chinon portrait the author triumphs over
the buffoon, in the others he can scarcely be said to do so. A broad
grin irradiates the features in the Chenonccaux portrait, and the thick
and sensuous lips, parted widely, reveal a fine row of teeth. The face
recalls that of one of the figures in the well-known picture " Unc
bonne histoirc." A marked depression of the head just below the
temples and even with the eyes is seen in all. An effect of this is to
give the upper portions a curious appearance of rotundity. The site
chosen for the statue is upon the banks of the river Vienne at the
foot of the street leading into the market- place. I trust that English
Pantagruelists will subscribe to this monument of the most advanced
teacher and thinker of the Renaissance.

^HE succe» of the Vega in accomplishing, almost at a first
attempt, the north-eastern passage from the Atlantic to the
ic suggests considerations of some interest. It is singular that
men had recognised in the American continent a bar to the
proposed westerly route to "far Cathay," they should still have
sought for a north-westerly passage to the Pacific, even though it had
become quite clear that such a route must carry the voyager as far to
the north as a north-easterly passage round the shores of Norway,

5o8

The Gentleman's Magazine.

North Russia, and Siberia. One route would be nearly as |
another so far as distance is concerned ; and either route would I
shorter way to the Pacific than a direct westerly course. Again and
again Arctic seamen tried to find a north-westerly passage to the
Pacific, while scarcely any attempts were made to penetrate the sou
to the east of Novaia ZemBtL The north-westerly passage was
found, but it has never yet been traversed, and probably never wiD
be. It will be rcmcmbcTcd th3t the problem was regarded as solved
when a course was made from Bchring's Strait to parts reached frota
the Atlantic, but neither have voyagers from the Atlantic passed ft
Behring's Sttait, nor voyagers through Bchring's Strait to the Adaniic.
Now, the Vega was only prevented by accidental delay of two or tint
days from passing in a single season from Gothenburg (whence
she sailed on July 4, 1878) to Bchring's Strait, which she eeald
have reached in September if shc had left the mouth of the Lcsa 1
few days earlier than shc did. As matters chanced, she was inf*>-
soncd in lat. 67° 6', long. 1730 30', for 364 day*- Released at leaf*,
on July 18, she passed But Cape, Bchring's Strait, on the *&,
having accomplished her object and given proof of the existence of 1
practicable north-cast passage. Professor Nordenskjold coDBdffl
that the journey can always be effected in a single season when a
little more experience has been obtained respecting these northern
seas.

IN their journey round the north of Asia the men of srieace <*
board the Vega, being detained eight months in the ice, 1
the acquaintance of a new race or tribe, and learned a new I
The people arc called, or call themselves, Tschutschcrs, and ate I
posed to have come from Greenland, though this is rather diffkoh" ft
believe. They are, however, a kindred race to the Escnumaux. 1*
Tschutschisk language, as might be guessed from the name.Ba*
easy to understand, but the explorers learnt it, and have cannflal*
Swedish-Tschutschisk lexicon of 330 woTds. However, the ip**
point to which I want to direct attention is the evidence afforded of
this blubber-eating race respecting a certain difference of tempenffl*
(shall 1 say?) between the sexes. In England not so very long aj*
men as well as women wore habiliments of gorgeous hues, tat *•
most men avoid splendid tints (though 'Any and his friends are «*•
ceptions), and the ladies only retain the taste for variegated coftOT*
attire. So also the List relics of the absolutely savage style of ado*
ment — the earring — is worn by women only. Again, system* *■
compression by which nature is to be improved — as when the Iada"

Table Talk. 509

parent compresses his papoose's skull into an abnormal shape, or
when the European mother causes her daughter's waist to be com-
pressed to the conventional wine-glass figure — arc not in favour
among our men. Now, it is curious to notice that among the
Tschatschcrs the men seem similarly in advance of the women.
" The women have their faces tattooed," we read, " but the men have
not." just as a Tschutscher visiting this country might say of us, " The
women wear tiebacks " (or, ai.cnrding to the lime, chignons, crino-
line, trains, or the like), " the men do not" Yet it must be admitted
tkit the costume worn by men at Court hardly accords with this
Theory, which, simply expressed, is this, that men are a little in ad-
nnce of women so far as sense in dress is concerned. It would be well
if a Lubbock or a Tylor would discuss savage customs and costumes
with direct reference to this question, comparing the fashions followed
by men and women of all known races, savage and civilised. Such a
work (edited, perhaps, by a committee of ladies) could scarcely fail
to be interesting, and might be found to possess considerable scien.
tific value.

J AVING once admitted into a species of intimacy those "foreign
X X devils," from whom he held aloof as long as he could, the
Chinaman seems determined to study their ways, and turn his know-
ledge of them to profitable account. It is no longer a novelty to meet
educated Chinese in the chief cities of the Continent. Twice during
the past month I have sat down in company with them at French tables
d'kiie, and that in cities as remote even as Tours. Meanwhile, the
renewal of vigour in a nation which a generation ago was regarded as
effete, is a noteworthy sign of the times. China is now regarded by both
England and Russia as an important factor in the sum of Asiatic
politics, as a country larger than all Europe may well be considered.
Tltcrc is, however, a direct and unmistakable outburst of national
life, the effect of which seems likely to be, so far as some of their
neighbours are concerned, to substitute King Stork for King Log.
Meanwhile, 1 am told by those best able to form an opinion, that the
Chinese, when well officered and well led, are good soldiers. Man
for man, they are superior to anything our Indian army can produce,
the famous Ghoorkas not excepted.

T SHALL, I doubt not, startle not a few of my readers, when I
X state that during a recent visit to France I have frequently seen
Pleach children intoxicated. Strange as such an assertion may seem,
I deliberately make it and stand by it. Again and again at labia tthite
1 \axt seen children scarcely more than babies suffering distinctly

5io The Gentleman's Magazine.

■

from alcohol. It is, as travellers in France know, the custom in a
districts south of the Loire to supply wine gratis at the tiro meah
breakfast and dinner. :it which the residents in an hotel eat in coo
pony. Repeatedly, then, in the hotels in French watering pbca
I hflM witrhed children of five years old and upwards supplied b]
their mothers with wine enough visibly to flush and excite them.
Sables d'Olonnc one little fellow, whose age could not be morel
six, drank at each of two consecutive meals three tumblers of
slightly diluted with water. The result was on each occasion i
commenced to kiss his mother, proceeded to kiss the person on
other side of him, continued by sprawling over the table, ,
by putting his head in his mother's lap and falling
never seems to enter into the mind of a Frenchwoman that
may be drunk at a meal. When long journeys by rail are
there is always in the neat basket in which the French mother i
provisions a bottle of wine or wine and watcT, out of which I
her children who have passed the stage of absolute infancy
allowed to drink. I can indeed say with truth that in the
a pretty long scries of observations of the French, chiefly road
admit, in public vehicles and hotels, I have rarely if ever seen a |
of cold water, unqualified with any admixture, quaffed I
It is now the fashion to mistrust water even when blended wrta i
for which purpose the various Springs of the F-au St. < I
largely employed.

AFTER the exposure, supplied in the Pall Mall Gautte, of 1
horrors of a steerage passage on board the Cunard I
the management of that company is called upon to come
with some denial of the facts advanced or some promise of :
amendment. How strangely difficult men are to rouse in any t
in which their own interests are not at stake, is shown in the tactl
this terrible description of a life existing in our midst has
apparently no slightest sensation. It is to be regretted that
period in which our newspapers open their columns to this class »
essay is the slack ot, as it is called, the silly season, when readers J
few, and when an abiding impression is difficult to make,
however, we commence to Tcform those gipsy classes, on whose t
Parliament is, I sec, to be stirred, we might do something for the I
couragement of cleanliness and decency among those to whoa :
things are not superfluous or objectionable. Powerful as it a
Cunard Company at least cannot afford to pass over without |
the grave indictment that has been brought against it

Table Talk. 511

I WONDER what my friend Dr. Richardson will say about the
bccr-drinking cases reported from Cincinnati. The fireman
who drinks twelve separate glasses while the fire bells arc striking
twelve, or in the same time the contents of seventeen glasses poured
into a bowl, must have a singular power of carrying his liquor,
especially as he docs not get in the least intoxicated, anil asserts that
he does not even feel uncomfortable. Still more striking are the

races in which, for a wager, eighty glasses of beer have been
consumed in two hours, and others in which, on special occasions
only, a hundred glasses fer diem have been drunk without apparent
ill consequences. But I am disposed to wonder more at cases in
which, according to the reporter of the Cincinnati Commercial, men
employed at breweries have taken daily more than fifty glasses of

r, for twenty years, without any other observable effects than that
they have become rather fleshy, and arc slower in their thoughts and
movements than persons of more moderate habits of imbibition.
The reporter does not tell us what kind of beer was consumed in
enormous quantities. Probably it was lager beer, which is
much drunk in Cincinnati, and which can be taken in much larger
quantities without producing intoxication than any liquor which an
English brewer's man would call *' beer." Still, fifty glasses a day, even
of lager beer, is far beyond any allowance which advocates of mo-
derate drinking, as distinguished from total abstinence, would regard
as reasonable. Five or six years of such heavy drinking ought, ac-
cording to theory, to kill 1 . hut twenty years have passed (in
several cases), and still they drink more than half a keg-full of beer
a day, and seem to like it, and after a fashion to thrive upon it. One
wondcrs whether the air of a brewery has any preservative power ;
ber, for instance, consumptive patients miy Using for
a year or so in the midst of the fumes of malt and hops, carefully
avoiding, it need hardly be said, the habits of the brewers' men in
the matter of drinking.

SCIENCE in detail always overpowers me ; my head goes round
under it, and I say, "Yes, I understand," which iiood :

lut "the fairy talcs of science" arc delightful. A medical gentl
of great eminence has had the good fortune to discover not only why
one blushes (which would not necessarily recommend him to some
people), but how to refrain from blushing. The appearance is caused,
he informs us, " by the dilatation of the small bloodvessels which
form a fine network beneath the skin ;" while turning pale, or
"blanching* as he calls it, is « the state in which the vessels contnrt

5'2

The Gentleman's Magazine.

and squeeze out their blood" The change is effected by the
stantancous action of the nervous system. A thought may produce
it, of course, and by taking a little more thought, it seems, it can be
done away with. It is generally produced by self-consciousness of
some kind, and may be negatived "by calling up some feeling
opposed to self-consciousness " It is through the mind that these
nerves arc influenced ; " then, influence them in a contrary direction
by the emotion associated with blanching." Thus, " if the feelinc,
which causes the blushing be expressible by the thought, ' here am
I in a false and humiliating position,' anticipate that and prevent
that thought by thinking, ' there arc you, daring to feel contempt for
another.' " •' Only avoid thinking who that other is, because the aim
in i •. be to eliminate self. Constitute yourself the champion of some
imaginary person and the indignant foe of those who presume to
condemn him," This is really magnificent. But how is it possible
) scoundrel to call up within him a virtuous glow? Oar
(1 assures us th.it "it only requires practice.'
possible, then, thmt this secret is known, and that attorneys,

:nple, who always "require practice," and generally get it, take
advantage of it. I have often wondered why they never blush.
Again, our man of science speaks of " the sort of cxpertness acquired
by actors and actresses to secure control of these surface phenomena,"
by which he would seem to imply that his method b used upon the
stage. Is it ? Again, " most persons who blush with self conscious-
blanch with anger," he says, " and an artificial state of mock
anger will soon blanch the face enough to prevent rJ WcB,

I get a mirror, and I think to myself' ny contnbo-

to Table Talk arc invaluable : why the deuce am I not paid
pounds a page for them f The blush of shame (for you,
lishcr) rises to my honest cheek.

Now for the scientific process of blanching. I pretend to t i
to myself that even as it is I am" too well paid, 1 la T into

"mock anger" with myself at the idea that ! am upon

your gen' 1 give you my won I

am as red as ever.

THE

GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE.

November 1879.

UNDER WHICH LORD?

■V E. LYNN LINTON.

Chaptu XXXI.

THE DIE O

THE country was looking its best to-day. A morning shower
had washed the air and brought out the full fragrance and
colour of the flowers in the garden, of the trees and turf in the
park, of the bcanfield to the right, of the tangled thorns and resinous
pines in the woods to die left By the afternoon, as it was now, the
clouds had lifted and the sun was xhining ; so that the Abbey and
the grounds, lying full to the south, were literally flooded with light,
and the whole place looked as if newly minted today. From every
voice And drctuastOBCe of nature stole out that subtle bopVj il>:it
sense of possibility in the future, which fill I the heart with undefined
ivure ; as if our sorrow had passed with tin- winter weather and
we were left free to love and enjoy. It WIS I day when the owners

■-I lands and the dwellers in fair places led doubly die delight of
life and the gracious ness of fortune; and Richard, for all till paio,
recognized the influences of the mom: nly ;is of "Id.

He looked out with the pride of the owner, mixed with the loving
understanding of the naturalist sod die deeper thoughts • i the [.lulo-
sophcr, as he and Hetmionc passed the open window to the table
beyond. What a grand day for the land, he thought ; and how well
he knew those thousand sounds and scents which were ever to him
like the voices of friends whom he could trust ! How glorious was
this thing which man rails Nature! — what a mine of truth and know-
ledge I And then he sighed, ami looked again oi\ vW vaVws'w"
band and Hcrmiom by his side.
rou eoxtr. so. 17J7. L L

514 The Gentleman's Magazine.

Her husband's study was a strangely unfiimili-ir place to I
mionc. For the last five or six years now — ^uc

dissatisfaction with his pursuits which had grown of late to sm h
overpowering height had begun to germinate in her mind— she had
not much affected it, and had always sniffed a little disdainfully at
the uncongenial things which lay about. But now those uncoru
nial things were actively sinful to her eyes ; the place was infected
throughout; and had she come here when not absolutely compelled,
she would have felt like a second Naaman bowing in the house of
Kimmon— but a Naaman without a dispensation. She had not been
here since that fatal ChrittmU night when her husband and Ringrovc
had represented to her and Virginia all imaginable personal coarse-
ness and spiritual darkness ; and, as she had rightly judged, the
renewal of the impression was useful, on Superior's side, by shocking
her sense of intellectual propriety and making her realize yet more
keenly the gulf between her and that infidel whose name she bore —
though she bore it set so far in the shadow of her own. Still, though
the skulls and bones, the In wis, the maps of the moon and

spectroscopic diagrams that were about were to many accusers, setting
forth Richard's scientific presumption and abominable atheism, she
was agonized by what she had to do. The fresh sweet time had
softened her even beyond her wont— of the kind as she was to be
softened through her s, fcstelytOU r sonic time now

heart had wavered hack to her I and nothing but the

icndous power which .Mr. lascelles had over her by confession
kept her steady to the point to which she had been brought ; nothing

her fear of eternal damnation, should he refuse to absolve her,
held her to the stake where she was to undergo torture and in:'
what she endured. What a dreadful moment it was for her 1 — the
who knew what was to come, and poor dear Riehard who knew

She was quite unlike herself as she cross
him in a tumult of conflicting feelings, hating his athi Uer

n action about equally ; loving and com

fxscinated by him; and unable to see her way 1 1
before bet. on.

;lrcw the chair to the table and bi
courteous and ten ,,rc

He dipped the pen in the ink and held ti

".esearcthelc; Lane End cottage*," he

only wan nature."

Though be I me authority

estate, according to the terms of the powo ncy kjtven to bin

Under which Lord?

515

Mr. Fullcrton's death, he had always kept up this little formality
of joint signature when leases were granted. He had begun it in the
early days of their happiness, not as .in art of homage to the Lady of
the Manor and the recognition of her rights so much as a declaration
of unity between husband and wife and the association of heT privi-
leges with his duties : and he had continued it ever since. But
Hennione, indolent and satisfied, had neither asked nor cared to
bow any particulars of the papers she signed ; and more than once
Hud stopped his mouth with a kiss when he wanted to explain. What
did she know about business '.— she used to say, with a pretty laugh
-he knew and she did not ; but she liked to see her name bracketed
topther with his. To-dayhowever when she sat down she did not
tale the pen as usual, but, looking at the endorsement, asked :
"What leases did you say ? " with an affectation of interest as well as
ignorance that was U new :i- her Ritualism — and his pain.

" For the houses :it I .-me End," he repeated.

" Are these the men who were turned out by Cuthbcrt Molyneux ?"
<ed again, fluttering the leaves and making believe to read wh.u
(he saw.

Yes," said Richard.

She glanced at the door. It was open by about an inch, and she
datinctly saw the outline of a face and the gleam of eyes watching her.

" They ought not to have these houses," she then said in a faint
nice and trembling,
•-why?"

He had been leaning over her up to this moment, pointing out
«hh one hand the plate where she was to sign — the pen in his other
kand. Now he laid down the pen, took his finger from the paper,
and straightened himself.

" They arc infidels," said Hermione.

F Is that a reason why they should be homeless?" he asked, still
The quietly.

" It is a reason why they should not have houses on my estate,"
*e answered after a pause, her manner by no means so decided as
•swords.

He was silent, feeling the ground before him.

" I have pledged myself to them," he then said rather slowly.
"These cottages were built expressly for them and have been assigned
^t)m the foundation-stone. Some of the men indeed arc already in
tossession John Craves, for one, moved in on Friday; and others
*nr moving to-day. They trusted to my word in the matter of the
'tees, which came from Starton only to-day."

IL2

5i6

The Gentleman's Magazine.

" 1 .11. iony, of course ; I do not like to distress you or to dis-
turb them. I IttK btafaing in things ; l>ut they ought not to b
these houses ; 1 ought not to harbour then

Hcrmionc spoke in short interrupted phrases, her breath often
failing her, her colour coming and going, her whole being in d

" It is my doing, not yours," he answered, watching her.

" I ..in responsible to God— a is my estate," she returned with
difficulty, again glancing at the door.

" Why does your responsibility to God make you refuse these
men as tenants ? " he asked. " They are industrious, sober, a
conducted ; they stand at a fair rent, and arc sure to pay pun
You could not have more desirable tenants."

•' They are the enemies of the Church," site answered.

" 1 also," said Richard, with emphasis.

Again she trembled, but she did not speak. She only sighed, ami
her lips began to quirer. It was a heavy burden laid on her, and
she felt aa if Superior had been needlessly I ruei. After all, a
it signify? Even infidels must live somewh" n tad then she che« i
herself as in the commission of a sin, and remembered her prim
duty of Obedience.

" 1 < i i ii my own lot with theirs," then said her husband,
another slight pause, still keeping his eyes on her, studying her every
movement, her every look and change 0

" Mow can you do that ? You have not built a cottage for ] i
she answered simply, not taking his meaning.

•• No, but I have given my word and must keep it— or Ml!
it," he S3 i'l.

made no answer; still fluttering over tltosc fatal leaves where
she seemed to read all but knew nothing.

"Surely this is a mere passing fancy:" then u ird.

" Are you serious, Hcrmionc? Do you really mean to use yottl

ul rights— my legal powers would count I'm rat

will — and forbid these houses to my friend

" What an extraordinary thin Richard ntte-

n.an can make friends of blacksmiths and :

) disdainful comment, glad of an escape into another question,

" My wife! The Man whoi
of p) ^, of lepers and castaways," said R

one tender but hall

,i when Hi
illogical and wide of the mark. " If the i -sus inc

Under which Lord? 517

anything at all, it means democracy carried to its ultimate limits, and
far beyond my standpoint. Hisdcmocni y w.i ; out -und-out socialism
nd by class enmity to the rich and respectable— ■///<* rich and
!n[iccublc— and mine is only the recognition of human worth
wherever found, independent of social condition."

" We leave the Church to explain all that," she said hastily and
with a freer manner. Argument was not so painful as action. u Of
course Protestants who go to the Bible for themselves fall into error
and make what was given us for our salvation their destruction
instead. Hut we who are good Church people are better taught."
' lauglit the value of class exelusiveness?— of strict caste?"
" ' >f ordained degrees of dignity and obedience to authority," the
il, using the vicar's own words spoken for her guidance not
to long ago.

Her husband looked :'' her with a smile, this time of infinite

■4km

" Ves, you have been well taught enough !" he said, with a sigh.
" I scarcely recognize your mind as the same sweet simple intellect
it used to be, as innocent of dialectics as of evil. You are now as
devcr in casuistry as one would expect the pupil of— Mr. I-ascelles
~tobe."

She blushed and looked uneasy.

" I have had to he taught everything," she answered. " My
Bind was a blank sheet of |iapcr when Superior — Mr. Lascelles —
came."

" Across which he has written, in bolder characters than I care

to sec, words which arc of all others the most painful to me," he

*id " But," rousing himself, " we are wandering from the subject

<*> hand, and this matter of the leases must be settled. What do

really mean to do ? Will you sign, or refuse to grant them ? "

She was silent for what seemed an eternity to her, tossed as she

*»s from side to side, and coward as she naturally was to pain. She

Md the leaves between her fingers, and the dead silence which had

'alien between her and her husband seemed to have reached out

"Mo the world beyond. She heard nothing but the beating of her

°wn heart and the half-che< ked breathing which a little more would

'Urn 10 tearless, sobs ; then the figure behind the door rustled auchi>Iv

*Jid the schoolroom bell rang out for prayers.

" 1 cannot sign them," -.he said in a low voice and with effort,
letting her hands fall nervelessly on the desk,

Richard caught his breath, and a slight quiver stirred his lips.
"The blow had fallen, and so far reality was better than suspense.

5i8

The Gentleman's Magazine.

But he did not give up the contest yet It was not for himself, bo)
for those whom he called his friends, that he was striving — and not
against Hermione, but against Mr. LascelL

,; You do not see the irruelty of this refusal ? " he asked, after a
pause. " You do not see that it is essentially an act of persecution,
and as unjust as it is— what shall I say? — tyrannical > I. your hus-
band, hold and teach the doctrines for which you punish these men,
yet I possess your estate, enjoy your fortune, live in your house, arid
you forbid them to be even your tenants ? "

" It is not by my wish nor with my consent that you do lead
these awful doctrines," she said half timidly. Again there »w a
slight movement at the door, and the schoolroom bell socmd l»
ring out yet more imperatively, more loudly : — " and I am wrong *
allow it," she added, her colour coming again, and her breath i
as much disturbed as if she had been running.

He looked at her narrowly.

" I always must teach them," he said slowly. " I shall Mfl
them to the last hour of my life, and only death shall stop
mouth. Christianity represents to me darkness and dittoed,
science and Agnosticism, light and reason ; and under all l«ato
I must remain true to the faith that is in me."

Now was the crucial moment. All that Superior bad said, aW
all that he had dofie by right of his office — his exhortation*, k»
commands, his anger, and that awful prohibition !— oil thai EdW
Everett had urged, and all that she herself believed, <aroe in «
huge wave of spiritual terror over her mind. It was her
ment of choice, her unalterable decision between a love \
had taught her to regard as unblessed and shameful, and the
who had died for her and whom she would crucify afresh if Ac *d
not sacrifice her husband; between the Holy Catholic (
whose priest held the keys of heaven and hclL, and the
himself eternally doomed, would drag her along with him
place of everlasting torment j between Mr. Lascdki and Rkh*S-
the rights given by confession or the duties owing to nutc»>
Which was it to be? — with the bell sounding i and fid**

Everett watching through the half-opened door, seeming to reps'
her last warning words : » Remember ! Cod sees you, and Sop*"
will have to be told.*'

"No," then said Hermione in a low voice, scarcely »**
articulate.

"What do you mean, dear? 'No* to what— in what *
be asked.

Under which Lord?

519

" Your infidel doctrines — you must not go on teaching them —
here— not in the Institution,'- she faltered.
" I built the Institution for that very purpose," he said.
•• You must not any longer," was all that she could say ; and the
woman behind the door smiled

•• Be expKi it, my wife," he said, for the second time going back
to the old phrase of the past, which he had given up ever since that
terrible day when she had withdrawn herself from him. He took a
chair and sat down by her, speaking with intense tenderness and
the very pathos of patient dignity. " I do not want you to give
yourself more pain than is necessary," he said, laying his hand on
hers as it rested on the table. •• I only want to have your meaning
lew. Have your friends counselled you 10 take the administration
of the estate out of my hands ? — and do you mean to take their
Ivicc?"

You must not preach blasphemy in the Institution," she said
evasively.

'■ But that amounts to a prohibition; and prohibition means that
u dispossess me. Speak plainly, dear — you have never found me
harsh husband, and will not now. I only want to have your real
es, so that we may not make a mistake."
He laid his other hand gently on her shoulder.
" You arc an infidel," said Hcrmionc. " You use your power
against the Church."
Then she covered her face with her hands, too broken and
lered even to pray.

And if I do not conform to the creed in which I do not
believe, you take the power of administration from me? Say it all
1 now — yes or no I "

- Yes," said Hcrmionc, almost in a whisper.
Surely now the sacrifice wa>. < uiu|ilete :

Richard passed his hand over his forehead and cleared his eyes,
he rose from his scat and went to the window, leaning against
looking out on the view before him. But it was as if a
had been drawn between him and all that he looked at— as if
Nature, so long his friend, had suddenly shut herself away from him,
and was now indifferent and silent.

"Your will h my law," he then said quietly, coming back to her
side " I will not press you further. Poor child '. I know what it
cost you to come to this I

" Oh, yes ! it has ! it has ! " she said eagerly, grateful that
should believe her less cruel than she seemed to be, and glai

hen

520

The Gentleman s Magazine.

that hr -liould recognize her suffering rather than blame her li
pain.

" linn : in; too far now to be patched up," he continued,

"and I have nothing for it but to yield." Me wax silent for*
moment. " Morse knows all that you have to do and can kerp
things straight for you," he then went on to say, speaking in a more
composed, more business-like tone. "You will find the books ad
accounts quite clear and intelligible. The whole of your afiairs »
in perfect order ; no outstanding debts beyond the necessary coma
expenses ; nothing confused or obscure anywhere. And you as
always write to me if you want further information."

At the words, "write to me," Hcrmionc looked up with a wit
as at the words, " no outstanding debts," she had thought with apau,
of her own entanglements, which she would be so much ashamed to
confess, yet which she did not know how to arrange unaided
notwithstanding her sudden terror she did not speak. She lud.
instead, her hand on her mouth to stifle her sobs and repress the
recantation of all that she had just now professed and ordained

" I do not think I have anything to tell you more than this," he
Continued. "'It has been an easy property to manage, anil
thing is in perfect order."

She turned to him suddenly and raised her hJuc eyes to his. It
was the impulse of ■ caress; but *iie remembered herself in tunc and

fell back to her former drooping attitude and tortured air.

" Good-bye, old love," he went on to say, pitying her pain anifef
her sake wishing to get it all over now at once. '* You have madett
the happiest of men for all our lives together until now when j«
avc suffered these strange influences to come between us and t»kt
ou from me. But I do not forget tl i susc of the presesi;

and though I pity you I do not condemn you ; not for anythwfr
sweet wife — except for the loss of our child.''

His voice changed as he said this, and again he turned away w
the window, where be stood leaning against the frame.

Hermiorie rose from her place and went up to him.

" Why do you speak as ii you were going away?" she asked,*"1
natural weakness conquering hei unnatural strengtlt. "Yob are*1
going to leave me, Richard?"

"Can you expect anything else, dear?" he asked, al».;
always patient, but with dignity as well as tenderness. "On J*"
even wish that I should staj lure to bear witness to my enenj*
triumph ' Vou have preferred Mr. I-»sccUes to me, and I haw *
choice left inc."

Under which Lord? 521

Not Mr. Lascellcs to you, but my Director," she stammered.
Man or Director, it is .ill one to me," lie answered. " I make
no difference between the two. Rut in any case, ask yourself whether
the position to which you have reduced me is one which the man
whom you once loved, and who is the father of your child, ought to
bold I cannot believe that you wish to humiliate mc to the point
of keeping me here as a kind of footstool for Mr. Lascclles to buffet
a his pleasure."

" You are only asked to give up your lectures, and not use

BODeytO spread infidelity and befriend atheists," she answered

wildly, preaching peace where there was none. She wrung her

is she tpoke, and looked round the room as if trapped and

rrd.

" I >o not try to salve over hard facts by soft words," he said.
"That is unworthy of us both."

i^'So ! it is only that ! " she ■. ru-«l.
"Ah ' my wife, do not Uy flattering unctions to your soul," he
I. •' You have dispossessed me simply in obedience to Mr. Las-
ts. Had it not been for him I might have taught what I liked to
the end of time. Well— so be it. You have the power and I have
no remedy. There is nothing for me but to submit, and leave you.
The law is on your side ; on mine only the love which has at l.i-.-.t
failed to touch you."

" But what shall 1 do alone ? You cannot go ! I cannot live
alone I "she said.

" If you want mc you can send for mc," he answered. " You will
always find roe where you left me. Nothing will ever change with
tne; and when you have flung off this hallucination, with all its
crookedness and want of truthfulness, you have only to call mc to
jour side again, and I will come— you know how gladly."

" Richard, you must not go ! " she cried hysterically, clinging to
Mi inn.

" It is this or your own full and unconditional return to mc," he
'There is no alternative. If you arc sincere in not
ing to separate, you will come with mc and leave all this pain
^d horror till you have got beyond its danger. Will you conic,
"ermione? Shall we go back to the old happiness and union?
"Peak, my wife, old dear love— say, shall we?"

He drew her closer to him, and kissed her forehead.
What was that small sound which came through the half-opened
Poor? Richard heard nothing, but to Hcrmione it was audible and
•itelugiblc enough.

522

The Gentleman's Magazine.

"Oh, why are you an infidel ?" she cried, with a terrified
Ircdng herself from his arms with a gesture of despair.

"It is too late to ask that now," he answered, again lasting
his hand over his face and dealing DU eye-.. "It is too lite il
round ! Good-bye, old love! It is useless to give you or unset
more sorrow. The die has been cast. I recognize my fate Good-
bye-
He turned for the last time, and was half-way through the roca,
when she called him with ■ < ry M if the were in fearful pain

" Richard I " she cried, her face convulsed with anguish.

Me stopped.

She made a sudden rush forward.

" You must not go ! " she exclaim, d " Rii i laid I my I
my beloved ! "

The door opened abruptly, and Edith Everett came quickly i
the room.

" I am afraid I am intruding," she said, with a cold, I
smile. " But the bell is ringing, Hcrmione, and we shall be
evensong."

Hcrmione shrank back as if she had lieen detected in si
Richard stood his ground quietly.

• With whom do you elect to go, Hcrmione? " he asked ;
Mrs. Everett or myself ? "

" I can answer that," said Edith, taking the poor, weak, i
ing hand and drawing it within her arm. " You will come with :
Hermione ; because if you do not, you will deny our 1-ord, defy 4
Church, and sink your soul to the lowest depths of hell
bound to obey as the Church has ordained.''

" Is this your dcliberat my wife— with all that

on it? Will you forsake me for these cruel destroyers of
and love? Oh, Hermione I shake oft' this hideous nightmare
for all ! Come with me — with your huslund, your friend — and I
these heartless fanatics to themselves! Come ! come, wi

He laid one hand tenderly on her head, and passed the 4
round her soft, fair shoulders.

Mrs. Everett shuddered.

" These sinful familiarities I " she said. " My sister, how can]
a pure- hearted woman, endure them? The caresses of the i
and you a child of our Mother ! "

Hcrmione hid her lace on her friend's shoulder.

"Speak, my wife! speak, old love!" said Richard,
pressible tenderness. " Will you come with me, or go with I

Under which Lord?

5*3

'• The Church commands you to COOtC (rim BOi" said Mrs. Everett.
If yon do not, you worship Satan, no) our Lord'"

I cannot disobey the Church," said Hermione, in a suffocated

•' Now you are answered ! " said Mrs. Everett triumphantly,
has saved her soul alive, and the gates of hell have not pit
Vmi have done well," she whispered to Hermione carcss-
"Our Lord and Hfa Sieved Mother are looking down on
jsa from on high, and the Church will give you absolution and
Uessing!"

Then, half carrying her, she bore her away from the room, leaving
Richard alone, conquered, humiliated and dispossessed.

The sictory gained with so much effort was not endangered by

■qjligem holding. All that day Hermione was kept at the Vicarage

in a state of spiritual intoxication which prevented her from feeling

or thinking. Superior received her back into the bosom of the

| Church as joyfully as if she had been the traditional prodigal who

[fad repented of her sins and returned into the way of grace from

of destruction. He received bet confession, and gave her abso-

o with a fulness of assurance that made her feel as if already

ted into heaven. He drew ■■ ivul pictures of the beaming satis-

lon felt by Divine Personages, and the joy passed round among

angels on account of her recall. He pouted with a generous

:e and a juicy brush the pains of that place of eternal torment

she had escaped; and made her thrill with terror as she seemed

to hear the gnashing of teeth and the cries of unclean and

:ent despair from which she had just escaped. It was like the

and strong drugs, the intoxicating perfumes and delight-

:ry witli ivliu h i II In. lii woman is surrounded on her sacrifice,

iled to her loss and assured of her gain. Her conscience

and her vanity excited — her superstition roused to the

t point, here of hope, there of fear — her affections turned from

natural course and poisoned at the source — her very weakness

a fulcrum for the strength of those who had overcome her — she

helpless in their hands. They were crafty, and she was simple ;

were clever, and she was credulous ; they were cruel, and she

timid ; and, above all, they believed in themselves and their

ines, and so had the extra leverage of sincerity against her.

ill day long and far into the evening they kept up this spiritual

: and incense, these drugs, this finery, by which their victim and

rwas cajoled into completing die sacrifice already begun — pre-

'—

5*4

The Gentleman's Magazine.

best womanhood, lier highest fidelity, her purest love. They in
catcd her as thoroughly AS if they had given her strong wine to drink
or Indian hemp to smoke ; and made her as incapable of clear
thought or honest reflection as if she had been physically insensible-
She was in the spiritual ecstasy of the spiritually drunk, and knew
nothing beyond the devout joys of holy imagination. She was or*
of the Accepted ; and her unresisting obedience to Superior was the
price which she had paid for the assurance of that acceptance She
had no sense of morality, no conscience beyond obedience, sad nai
in that State wherein women have sacrificed their children 10 Mobo\
flung their darlings to the lions when commanded by the high root
who to them was the voice of their god. The victory was absolt*?,
.1 1 i uniplctc in all its circumstances as the warmest advocate of lit
submission could desire ; and when the two women left the Ykangr,
Edith Everett said in a hurried tone to Mr. I-nsccUcs, as he handed
her into the carriage : —

" Did I not promise that I would bring her to reason? Kovril
you trust me again ? "

" The cleverest woman I know anywhere ! " he answered wjmlj.
looking right into her eyes. " And one of the most faithful
of the Holy Mother," he added in a prim voice, dropping has
demurely.

Cbaptbb XXXII.

THE CONQUERED AND THE CONQUERORS.

THI Institution chanced to be more than usually crowded i
night, for the subject of the lecture was attractive. It was to he »
rapid survey of salient |>oints showing the bom -if*

planetary system as proved by the *]>ectroscope, and of life on
earth as proved by evolution. And certain of the Laodii
among the congregation, who subscribed neither to Ritualism nor l
the upsetting theories of science, but wlio liked to keep well'
their parson and to learn exciting facts when they could, had ifttd
among themselves to turn a deaf ear to the anti-scriptural iff*-
Cttioas -o sure to be made, and go to the lecture to hear
Mr Kullcrton had to say about the unfinished condition of Jirptv
and the telluric analogies of Mars — the development of man rroni in
ascidian and the close chain of likeness running through the wW
race of the vertebrates.

Under which Lord? 525

1 1 would bo rare fun too, said sonic, to hear how all these data
would he found to prove one thing in his hands when they bad
ide to prove another in those of an orthodox popullrizet
of science whom Mr. Uucellct lud lately had down at Crussholmc
10 refute the local Apollyon :unl hoist him with In I 0*1 scientific
it would ■ >■■ 1. He fun, said thOM who WON lazily in-
different to the COntradJ iween fact mid i.iiili ; rare fun, said
the piLsumptuous ignorant who think it lm to •neer at the know-
nothingness of philosophers, because, while they ill acknowledge
the same facts, they all nuke In :ions. They and
some others promised themselves y line treat ; wherefore the room
fuller than it had been of late, since Mr. I .asccllcs had chris.
tened it the Devil's Shop, and made abstention therefrom a tint ft
»on of Church acceptance and a fore in the good things dealt out
to the faithful ; and, with the i ontr.idii tiousnew of fate, on the very

mght when Richard would have been glad to have met only hja

handful of sympathetic fh'endl, to whom he could speak freely and

tool pain, he was encountered by a hod of the curious, the in.

different, the semi ninm. il -and one active enemy in the person of
Adam Bell, the vicar's colly. dog and spy.

Mild and quiet as ever, but as pale as if his veins had not a
drop of red blood left in them, Richard gave his lecture in his old

uiicr and with his old care. The bold word said in the calm
voice, so peculi ul) hu cheracteristu . the richness of illustration to
ii\ the choieeness and yet simplicity of language to mi

tin- literary butt and insure the self-respect of his hearers, so that
they should not feci themselves sj>oken down to, and yet should

perfectly well nnderstand .ill thai was taid to them and be in no

wise addressed over their heads ; all the tact ami thoroughness, the

:i. y .ind ihOUghtfnlneW, Which made him tach a consummate
lecturer for working nun, wen) ai evident in ni^hl, during his agony,
as they had ever been at his Ix-.t and freest moments. Nothing
could have shown more clearly the nature ol the man whom his

had been induced to repudiate as an emissary of the Evil One ;
nothing could haw proved more conclusively his COM ■ iciuiousncss,

lei of duty and what e>ch

iber owes to the community of which he forms a part. It was
only when all the facts came to be known that the men who listened
to hjtfl now with pleasure, remembered him as he was to-night with

.■1 1 Even Adam Bell cot 1 n that small cynical

1 oil" which other men call their souls, that Humantac \\\ \v,
highest developnumJ is a thing rightly worsV\\\>v»:& , »tA *n»x V«

526

The Gentleman's Magazine.

FullcTton was I man who made one somehow believe pretty <
in a God.

When the illustrative and physical pan of his lecture was finished
Richard went back on his old argument — the untrmtworthiness of
the Bible wherever it can be tested, and the consequent untenable
pretensions of the priesthood whose Fundamental < him is based on
scriptural infallibility. It was all false throughout, be Mud ; and tfw
chain of reasoning, however logical in itself, which gives spirituil
power and insight to the clergy, f;ills to pieces when we examine 6t
starting-point — like those conjuror"* chains which can only be undo*
l>v pulling out the first link. But that first link had been palled osf
— some generations ago now. So soon, he said, as it was pro*ri
th.it the sun is the centre of our system and the earth only out d
many planets revolving round it ; so soon as it was proved that w
and nil these other worlds were of the same identical substance ti
the sun, and that this was only one of many sj Ice oar on;

so soon too as the doctrine of evolution in nature became estahfakd
as a scientific fact, true in substance if in parts laulty in detail— «
soon did the Bible become a simply human record of puerile tAlo
mixed up with lofty thought— interesting as an historical study
dead letter as Revelation. They could judge of its infallibDit
difference between proved cosmic facts and the explanation of I
given in its pages. They could judge whether th'
signed by it 10 man, and all that followed on that in
likely in view nf his relative position in the universe; nudiftbc
groundwork thus failed them, what became of the supers:
if the Bible was proved untrustworthy in its facts, where did the/
stand, those ecclesiastics who offered themselves as its divtsay
nspircd interpreters ? Of those ecclesiastics, he said, he must j
and again warn his hearers to beware Men who thought it i
the range of their duty to take the children from the parents, to t
husband and wife and destroy the peace of families, were not of I
kind to be welcomed into F.nglish homes or encouraged a* the I
and guides of society. No human affection was sacred to i
stood in the way of ecclesiastical aggrandisement ; no me
value if in opposition to their dogma. They cared only to i
date their power and deepen the influence which sup
allowed litem to gain over the lives and m men.

their confessed principle of the ei jring the

knew neither remorse nor fear in the i .idoptei

secure that end.

He besought them to lay to heart all that he had said to then 1

Under which Lord? 527

wmc years now ; and to understand dearly that they were at this
moment in the thick of the fight between knowledge and superstition,
tyranny and freedom. The new vicar had resolved to carry Cross-
holme, and he had ipned no pains to insure the victory. He gave
them fine sights and good music in the services to charm their senses,
tad he would do more in this way when the church should be
reopened ; he sought to terrify them with old wives' fables of eternal
damnation for being what they were born to be, unless they would
go to him and the Church for safety ; he roused their imagination,
subjugated their intelligence, damped their energies, soothed their
sorrows — yes, he soothed their sorrows! and got his tightest hold
•hen they were weakest!— by promises of a heaven where they
should be compensated for the sufferings and shortcomings of their
8m on earth ; and he attacked them still more closely by charities
which degraded them to accept. The whole thing was a net closely
■wren and craftily cast, and meant in all its circumstances, simply
ind solely, power to the Church ; which in its turn meant loss of
Sberty to the laity. Let them beware of all that was now offered to
them, and be brave tn bear loss, if that should lie included in stead -
fulness to their birthright of mental freedom and manly indepen-
dence. This was his last word to them — at least for the present.
He was leaving Crossholme to-morrow, and it would probably be
long before he should see them again, if ever. The Institution was
to be shut against the old members, and would pass into other hands,
»nd be used for other purposes ; (his pale face flushed when he said
this, and his lips twitched visibly beneath his moustache) ; and this
«s the last lecture which he should give them here from this place.
And so he bade them all heartily farewell and trusted that he had
•fit been their fellow -worker — their fellow-seeker after truth — for so
•my years in vain.

His voice a little failed him, when he thus bade them farewell ;
wt be recovered hitnself before he had betrayed his emotion too
Ainry, and bore himself through his trial as manfully as he had
tome himself with Hcrmione — accepting with the patience of
*Rngth the pain from which neither energy nor courage could
•echim.

As he came down from the desk to the floor of the room the
•ftorc intimate of bis friends gathered round him.

■ bat is that you say, sir? asked John Graves anxiously —
you are leaving us? and the Institution is to be given up ? "
Tears stood in the man's eyes. He had had many a hard fall in
life, but this was one of the worst. This touched more than himself

5*8

The Gentleman s Magazine.

Stro>:

.*f

— it wounded truth, the progress of thought, and the good of hunumr/,
which were more to him than even his own private affections; feci*
had learnt his lesson of " altruism " well, and was the fitting licuttnri
of such a captain as Richard.

" Come aside with me, my friends," said Mr. Fullcrton, turning to
those to whom had been promised the cottages — about tea net
in all.

He indicated Ringrove Hardisty M well, but when the sharp kt
of the little chandler pressed in behind Tom Moorhcad's bam;
shoulders, he said quietly : —

" No, not you, Adam — you are out of it ! "

" Hope it's nothing good, sir," said the former |>cdlar, |
" 1 don't care to be out of the swim when Uteres line tali afloat"

"So it seems," said Kifhard; "but your net b
waters, and you have no business now in ours. Here, i
do you come up here — I have a word to say to yuu. And 1 1
something painful to say to you all," he continued, wlien he !
collected them in a group, standing about him amaxed and a I
breathless, as men knowing that a shock was to come ami that
were in some unknown danger. "The leases of your cottages i
refused, my friends. Mr. Lasccllcs has induced Mrs. Fullerton i
reject you as tenants on net estate. You know, of course, that t
is her property. I have been merely her steward ; though
tinea 1 believed I was master where, when it comes to the \.c*
have to reineml>er that I have only been the agent, to bc<
of my point at pleasure. Now the wishes to manage things ea !
own account, and we must not think hardly of what is done tij I
She has become a warm convert to Ritualism— this is no nest »
anyone ; consequently she does as she is directed by the vicar, «*•
ad\ isis her not to give tenements to men not in accord wilh A
Church. 1 am grieved to have this to say to you. 1 know that JX"
have counted on my word as if it had been a lease duly signed u*1
you, John, above all, are on my heart. You ran umlerstsai
all of you, what it has cost tuc to give this lecture and to teO f*
this bad bit of news. And you know for yourselves what it intlidcs.
Rut it had to be don

"And you were never greater than now, sit," said John Cm*
with a tender kind ul te:.|>r.:i tl.n liu.il in it all the essence of lcja»T
to the fallen— the respect of a disciple who would not deny k»
master, but who stood firm lo share in his martyrdom, whatcve**"
that martyrdom might take. " I know what you must be sufltn»*j
just now— wc all can realize that; but Mr. Fullerton, sir, a I

nfa«|

Under which Lor. 529

you stands above humiliation. The man in you r, .<dc.il
sight higher than anything that can happen to yuu ; and you can't be
brought down, you < ant be humiliated, let them try their worst !"

* There's nought for us, then, but to leave the old place,'" said
Did Stem. He was the naturalist of the little hand, and for years
hid found his highest pleasure in noting the various date ! — ■. Imi
the first primrose was to be seen, the first ashlcaf, the first ear of
what ; when the first cuckoo was heard and the first swallow ap-
peared, and so on ;— irhit l> dab he then sent to a local paper, and,
humble as it was felt that be had done something for knowledge
by contributing this little brick to be set in the great temple. " I
thought to bam lived all my iLiys here," he continue. I, "but it seems
that's not to be- As the master says — it has to be done ; worse

■ Yes, worse luck, indeed ! " said Allen Rose " It's hard lines to
«akc a new place and find new friends at the age of most of us ;
when we've rooted, so to say, and have nothing beyond the old

" It's enough to rouse the country side ! " cried Tom Moorhead's
voice. " If any brave lad would put an ounce of lead
into that ' — objurgation — " parson's skull he'd be doing a good day's
•wk, though he swung for it ! It wouldn't be so bad as shooting a
fcgfox!"

"Softly, Tom ! softly! " said Richard. " We have nothing to do
*ith bullets and the gallows here ! We are quiet, law-abiding,

i-loving men, who want to know the best kind of life that

may follow it ourselves and teach it to others. We are not
I or felons ! "

" Mr. Fullerton, sir, you are too soft ! " cried Tom passionately.

Kou are too good for the like of them, and they just prey on you —
ft where it is. sir I If you had kicked that priest there out of
jwif house the first moment he set foot in it, and forbidden anyone
as belonged to you to follow after him, it would have been a precious
•ight better for us all ! You'd have been master to the end, and
•e'dnot have been the laughing-stock of the country."

1 ence, Tom ! " said Allen Rose angrily. "Another word of
*ht same sort and I'll kick jv// out of the pi t< c '

'Hold your noise, you big mooncalf ! " s:iiil Dick Stem, tboviog
j blacksmith aside. "As if things were not bad enough without
bellowing to make them wor

'Come, my friends! no wrangling among yourselves," said
" We all know Tom— a good heart and a fiery temper

ILT. NO. I7S7. M M

53Q

The Gentleman s Magazine.

which is apt to run away with him before he known where he i
But we'll have no words among ourselves to-night. Thai
indeed, bo n triumph to the other side! "

\nd look here, my men," cried Ringrove, in a lou ■'
I in the- room, who Mid gathered nearer by degrees and had
already heard Tom's views of things, were fully aware of what was
going on, " you shall stand at no loss by this. I am sure I am doing
what my friend here would have approved, had I consulted with him
on this subject before speaking, when I say that I will give you each
what Mr. Fullcrton would have done— that is, a roomy house and a
plot of garden ground, man for man of you. I will put the plans in
hand to-morrow. Hold on till the house* are ready. While I am
alive, DO |"i."i shall hvw it all his own way here in Crosshohne;
and for the sake of my friend, Mr. Fullerton, I will befriend all of
you whom he has stood by."

•* Thank you, sir."—" Thank you, Mr. Hardisty."— " A chip of
the old block."— " Mr. Fullcrton's second self."— - Things wont go
far amiss while we've got such a man at the head of them," -"The
vital '11 have his match. I'll go bail ; " — dropped from the men, and
culminated is a ringing cbea " for the master of Monkshall," while
Ki<h.ird grasped the youry fdh i\« .-. hand warmly, and said : —

"Thank you. my hoy, you are what I always knew you to he."

" Thanks, Mr. Hardisty, to the example set you by Mr. Fuller**
here," said John Graves, faithful to the old flag and turning M
the setting sun.

Hut even with li. In ik in the clouds there was sorrow
about at this moment specially that sorrow of the parting,
of the men wept like children as they shook hands for the latf I
with him who had been their guide, their friend, their teacher .
example. Tears stood in Richard's eyes too, and his good -by* !
John Graves was like the parting fro thcr. But all

were simply details. The great grief and origin of all
behind ; and these were only so many turns of the knife t» <h
wound through which his life-blood was slowly flowing. T1 1
painful enough ; but they were secondary pa OMBttAf tip of

individual reliQ gone down in the shipwreck in which had beet- W
wife, > hDd, and fortune.

It came to an end however at last, and Ki< hard ant) Rir:

were left alone Then the strength which had borne hem up »o»tH

failed the led master of the Abbey. He sat down on oar

of the chairs, and bent bin i his crossed anas, hi3m(rn*

anguish even from his friend.

Under which Lord? 5j_

After a time he controlled himself so that he could look up.
(Jive me a bed to-night, my boy," he said. " I shall leave by
the first train to-morrow morning, but I could not sleep in the Abbey
to-night. 1 1 wo»dd be only an unnecessary pain. You understand
it, do not you ? My life R over there, and my wife will be best left
alone."

" Yes, yes ; I see it all ! " said Ringrove excitedly. " I cannot
talk of it ! I should say what I should regret after. Yes, come
home with me. M> house is yours my purse is yours; you are
my friend, my elder brother, and I have nothing which is not yours,
if you like to have it."

"Thank yon, rny boy," Richard answered simply. "I knew
what you wire. All that I want from you however is a bed to-night,
and that you will be my agent when I am gone. Befriend my men
and give a look now and then to her. And do not judge her
harshly, Ringrove. She has not done me this wrong of her own will.
She has been overcome."

His words came abruptly to an end, and he got up and walked

to the fireplace. For the moment he had forgotten Virginia and his

cause of grief against her mother, and remembered only

his wife, the woman whom he had loved with such calm

Of trust, such fondness of faithful affection, and whom he

, in truth he scarcely knew how !

After a while he turned back.

'" Now let us go," he said. " This is simply losing strength."
■ Let mc only say that you may tnist me as you would yourself,"
Ringrove in a low voice. " I love her too well and believe in
real goodness too thoroughly not to treat her with deference and
as much for her sake as for yours ; and I may perhaps do a
good," he added.
j You will do no good," said Richard. " Things have gone too
and she believes too much."
"Tom Moorhcad was right, brutal as he is— that man is good

for killing I" said Ringrove passionately.

" Better kill the superstitious ignorance whence he draws his

The people who mislead are as much to be pitied as those

are misled. They believe what they teach," was Richard's

teristic answer, wishing to be just even to Mr. tasccllcs.

they passed out into the soft, sweet, fragrant evening air, and

« home by the highway to Monkshall— the Abbey left for ever.

That night Hcrmione woke with a start from a confused and

it h a

532 The Gentleman's Magazine.

troubled dream. As she woke up more thoroughly she felt that some
one was in the room, and, half dreaming as she was, she thought it
was bet husband — old habit stronger than new conditions.
" Richard, dear I " she said in a tender sleepy voice.
Only semi-conscious, the excitement of her spiritual suttee lud
passed away, and she had come tack to hci living natural

" Richard, darling ! " she said again in that sleepy, warm, caressing
voice.

The curtain of the bed drew slowly back, and Kdilh Everett
stood white and tall by her side.

'• My poor sister, you an- dreaming ' ' the said in hei
tones, through which penetrated the cold -mile that made tlut
smoothness glacial. *' Wake up, llemiionc I Satan has inspired tin.
vision. Shake ofTthi* horrible pOMetlii

'(live me my husband! give me back Richard I" cried Her-
mtone with an hysterical ny, spreading out her arms and flinging
her head wildly on the pillow.

Edith took the soft round dimpled arm in her strong and nervous
grasp. She forced the frightened woman back to her former posi-
tion, and laid the cruc ifix, which she snatched from the little tabic
by the side, as a kind of exorcbtic charm on the heaving breast

Do you want to become a castaway?" she said in a low stem
voice. "Your love for your atheistic husband is a crime, a sin
against your womanhood ! You shall not go back to him. I
keep you sacred to our Lord even against your will ' "

" You frighten me ! you hurt me ! " cried Hcrmione, half rising
and trying to struggle herself free. " Richard ! Richard

" Fool !" said Mrs Everett, flinging her back roughly and holding
her down as harshly. " You are too contemptible ! Rut you ihalt
-.nil 'nit ! You shall not have your own will !"

It was the old story— the whip of Mr. Lascelles and the scor-
pions of Edith Everett— tyranny, contempt, anil
end had been attained and there was no longer need 01 (lattery and

The next morning when the gong bounded for breakfast no one
ap|>cai. Mis, Everett . Hcriniunc w.-.

and ft . Richard wj •.-. ,• to i

■ red and driven out. The j the

end — if indeed

■it the other the mere passive resistance of one i
had Iwen tic<!
the first Such as it had been however it was now over, and the way

Under which Lord? 533

wis cleared of all obstruction. The new brooms might sweep where
they would — " the besom of destruction," said Mr. Lascelles, smiling
with that saintly waggishness of his kind wht n they base their humour
On the Old Testament, for which they have at the best but a prob-
lematical kind of respect And the besum of destruction set to work
pretty sharply — grass growing under the horses' hoofs not being to
the liking of Mr. Lascelles.

i the receipt of a note from Edith Everett the vicar came
op to the Abbey by ten o'clock, ostensibly to comfort Hermione in
this undeserved affliction of her husband's cruel desertion.

'• Had he been rally the unselfish I re.itun- he passed for, he
would have kept by you to help you in ) our new duties," said Mr.
lascelles. " He knew how helpless he had made you for his own
purpose ; and now to leave you in the midst of your difficulties ! — It
is too cruel

"The dear little woman need not fret about that," said Edith's
calm smooth voice. " You and I, Superior, have both good business
heads, and we can help her. Would you like us to look at the things
lo-day, dear?" tn |K)or, Hushed, feverish Hermione. " If we do, we
shall be ready for you to-morrow. And something must be done
legally about those leases. The men already in possession — there
are two, 1 think you said, Superior?— must have their notice to quit
Sou must he careful to be on the right ride of the
law. Shall we sec to all this for you ? "

•• Yes," iaid Hermione, too ill and unhappy to care much wli.il
she said or what was done.

"Then we will leave you, dear, to get a little sleep," answered
Edith, with a look at Mr. I„oscellcs. " Shall wc go down at once,
Superior, while you have the time to give?"

" It will be best," said the vicar, unconsciously falling into the
second place while appearing to hold the first — acting as was sug-
gested while seeming to keep the command. " I have an hour free
for this panful but necessary duty. Our friend here must not feel
herself deserted or without help. Now sleep, and be at rest ! "
he added, making the sign of benediction over her while he re-
peated the words. "Sleep! knowing that the Church bol
as her dearest daughter, and tliat Our Lord is well pleased "iih you ' "

Hut, for ail thai, her husband was banished, and she knew in her
own heart that she had broken his.

tThen the two, going down stairs, wenl into the study, and b
their work of inquisition. Such and such a thing m this infidel col-
lection of natural science Mr. I.isi ilk ike down to the

534

The Gentleman s Magazine.

Vicarage, for his own purposes. Turned to Atheistic uses as
had been — to the proving of " ontogenetic evolution," the demon-
stration of " mind-cells," ;md all the other soul-destroying principles
to whii li ki'li.ird had devoted hinudf— fa his hands, and in that
very Institution which hithc«o had been the Temple of Satan, be
would make them evidences of Divine Intelligence and the mystery
of creation. lie would transfer the furniture and transpose the
image so that what had hitherto been dedicated to blasphemy and
idolatry should now become aids to the Church and true religioa.
Such, and such, and such, he said ; and Edith Kvcrett, looking oter
his shoulder, said: " Yes, do take them, Superior ; " Iwt nevertheless
she resolved that she herself would have a close study of them all
before fclicy went. -She was a clever woman and had the curiosity of
her sex.

When this preliminary survey was made they then turned to the
books and private accounts ; and before noonday came they had so
far mastered the details of the Abbey estate, that Mr. Laacelles eooM
judge for how much Hermione, now her own mistress, might be
held good in the way of tribute : — " loans lent to the Lord," said the
with the euphemistic hypocrisy of his calling, when the Uuj
are called »" for funds wherewith to build their own intcllectail
M and forge their own mental chains: — "loans lent to the
Lord," and so much left for her own uses. " If she has a ihoosod
a year she may think herself well off," he thought, smiling as bf
reckoned up his future funds.

Ciuitrr XXXIII.

THE DAY OF TRIUMPH,

■

Cosi'i mm n as a soft, foolish tiling not fit for her pbtt**
worthy of the good stuff she had, by the men who loved her hush**!
and who regarded Hennione's choice much as Hamlet held k»
mother'* :— Indignantly wondered at by Mrs. Ncsbitt, who tailed*
recognize her old friend in this new presentation, and who refused »
accept any other alternative but *' mad or bad : " — By virtue cf *»
manhood more tenderly judged by Ringrove, who not only •**
Virginia in her mother and Richard in his wife, but who hooadf
loved Hermione for herself— and yet, though he loved her wen ud
judged her tenderly, he could do nothing stronger for her than
; and throw the blame of the " first hand " on the vicar

tbaa v

Under which Lord? 535

object of confused displeasure on the part of Lady Maine, who,
jubilant at the atheist's overthrow, yet thinking the papist who had
dismounted him every whit as abominable, was unwilling that Mr.
Fullcrton, infamous U he was, should be scourged by those who
themselves deserved the lash: — Held by Mr. Lascellesas his creature
and his conquest, ranked as so much pecuniary gain to the Church,
to be quietly let drop when exhausted: — Despised by Edith Everett
for her weakness — as if feminine weakness has not been the uni-
versal pabulum of spiritual dominators in all times and all climes ! —
and her Ritualism laughed at for all that she herself, clear and far-
sighted, had joined the extreme section of the party ; but then Edith
■ rctt knew what she was about, and Hcrmione did not : — Com-
passionated only by Theresa who once had feared her, but who now,
with the keen fiair of the dying, knew that since the clever widow
rod come to Crossholme that beloved priest of theirs had ceased to
tare for either of his favourite penitents as he used formerly, and
thai she in her own person, destroyed by obedience, burnt up by
love, was now only a troublcand an embarrassment: — Held by all as
criminally attached to Mr. 1-ascelles and therefore insincere in her
conversion and infinitely blameworthy all round ; — this was the net-
•ork of commentary and condemnation that Hennione had woven
»bout her name by what was, after all, only the righteous logic of her
principles. Granting those principles true, neither she nor Mr. las-
cellcs nor yet Edith Everett was to blame for what had been done,
eegg so the chick; and the chick is not in fault. An eagle
chips his shell here, a vulture struggles into light there, and kites
arc hatched by brooding mothers as well as doves and nightingales.
It is by the direct action of that brooding mother what kind of
creature is added to the forces of life: but it all depends on man
"hit kind of egg he chooses shall be hatched. If he has a fancy
•or kites and vultures, he cannot expect to save his lambs and
fetfa ;■■..

On one point however Mr. I.aseellcs was sedulously careful : —
Hermkine must not be allowed to feel the chill breath of public
<fc&tour. She must be surrounded too closely by the clerical
tforo* bound t>: sing her praises, for a discordant note to be heard
*kore their louder melodies. The rapping of the tom-tom and the
Woorkatjon of drugs and incense must go on till that voluntary
Wtec was completed and the wealthy victim — widow of love !— had
no more to give. Until that hour should cume she was not to be
pve» time to think ; and he carried out his design. The Abbey
•« like a Roman seminary for all the priests and brothers and

53<> The Gentleman 's Magazine.

fathers who swarmed there at all hours, like li

on a green cornfield ; and even at night no danger

allowed Edith Everett slept in he* room, under pre

guardianship, and read her to sleep e

wherein the Cfaorch was always spoken of a.i U Mothci

whose arms all sins and sorrows wire abandoned, and in whose

.ice no crime could be committed when the action was of I
intent. Her debts too, which were really the most important inn
in Hermionc's present life, were not suffered IO p Mfc

Lasccllcs undertook to settle them, if dear Mrs. Fullcrton m
guided b) him j Hid deal Mrs. Fullcrton, naturally enough, was

ulcd by him. unable to cope with difficulties

kind ; but pecuniary difficulties were so many algebr
which no amount of figures set down on paper could make clear i<>
bar. So the vicar, who was anxious to be able to ■
course on the day of the opening of the church that not
debt encumbered the building, put the aflaii
own lav d a considerable mm of money in a hocus pa

kind of way that was almost like a conjuror's trick, paid off what was
owing i<< tin l.i-i farthing, anil then told Hermicm
much to the j;ood in the bank.

It w.i . .1 piece of charming legerdemain to the pn tty woman
could not ' ill nl. lie— something like that
"M time, wi had been put down twi

pounds had multiplied to that extent ; and she expressed her p
imle as warmly as if the pious juggler had made her a | | ihr

whole sum. To her mind indeed he had.

Edith Everett too praised dear Superior for wtuU I c so

inly and incessantly that Hermione wis almost bankrupt in gran
tude, and could not be sufficiently sweet ami humble,
i kind ! so generous!" she said (went;
i widow now led and now echoed hi I

Meanwhile the two pious confederates had no m

leading |] It was not for then

and for Her c . itttion and earoqiierie wi..

I In- op ioJag .'i the ' hurch wa-
the me the vicar had one or two tiling *ic,

had to scatter the band, if lie could, now thai the li
been discoinfiiecL A<

vhe masjffitntca at Start on to an
c/iargc of using threatening Unypu&u *v. •>-

Under which Lord? 537

pace. By a. refinement of cruelty, all the men of Richard's special
tallowing were made to giw evidence against their comrade, and
Tom, whose |>ersonal recognizances were refused, and who on his
part declined to let his friend) g« bail for him, was marched off to the
lock-up as a dangerous character best out of the way.

From that moment the blacksmith was a ruined man, in conduct,
character, and estate ; and Adam Bell's chances with pretty Janet
were not so desperate is they had been. He had calculated on this
temporary removal of her father as a powerful agent in his favour ;
and hi* calculations were not so far out. This too was another instance
of the unseen influences which govern life and action, the personal
motives by which we are stirred when seeming to be acting only on
the broad principles common to society. If it had not been for
Janet, and liecansc he was angry at her father's opposition, Adam
Bell would in all likelihood not have "split" on Tom; and Tom
would not have been sent to the lock up, to come out a reckless,
ranting demagogue, fearing no man and honouring no law, un-
governed by reason, and to be kept in bounds solely by the brute
strength of the majority.

The vicar did his best to spoil the lives of the other men as he
spoilt Tom Moorhead's, honestly believing that he was doing
service in thus thowinx of what flimsy stuff their virtue was
made ; but here Ringruve stepped in, and took such as would come
to him into Monkshall itself, until their own houses were ready.
Both John Graves and Dick Stern went up to the house, but some of
Ihc rest either declined the further fight and shifted into Starton or
migrated farther away still to London or America. Those who were
left however Mr. Lasccllcs sought to starve out ; and to have em
ployed one of these excommunicated sinners would have cost the
members of his own party more than any among them chose to pay.
He was in the addle now ; and they should learn the strength of
the hand which held the reins.

He took the Institution lor his own purposes, and, as he said,
made the place which had so often echoed with Mr. Knllerton's
blasphemies resound now with true Church doctrine. Some of the
most objectionable books he burnt ; the rest he sold, and got what
he called sound literature with ihc proceeds. He made Adam Bell
custodian and librarian, partly because it is politic to reward ratting,
and partly because he was a sharp spy and a valuable reporter ; and
the near believed that a government is best carried on when llu -n- i .
no opposition, or when what there is it muzzled.

But by all this he roused RingTove, who kept a firm front and

seen

538

The Gentleman s Magatint.

helped the remnant of the beaten band where he could. The master
of Mdnksfaall did not go so far as Richard in specula i iocs

certainly, hut all this high-handed tyranny drove him in thai di-
rection, and alienated him from the Church. He was as strong as
hard had been in urging the men to ce and self-reliant,

and even more passionate in his di try domi-

nation, because with him it became mixed up with that element of
jealousy which was one of his sins and was not one of Richard's.
He spent a good deal of money on Secularism, as he called it : and
Mr. Ijscellcs had done so far good in his life in thus making the
master of Monkshall decidedly public -spirited, and preventing his
sinking into the mere country gentleman ot pleasure. Ant!
Kingrovc's good qualities this possibility had been cm the cards.
He often went to see Hermionc, painl is were. But

he thought it right to her in her spiritual bond;: her the

chance as it were of freeing herself when she would — and it was
duty to Richard, to whom he wrote two or t) in the week

telling him how things stood both .it the Abb

had little to tell that was comforting to the poor exile. II. -miotic
never mentioned him ; she had been forbidden to do so by Supc:
and Kdith Event! never left her alone to n bedience pee-

siblc. Richard had written once, saying in his letter that if she did
not answer he would understand her silence as meaning her desire
not to hold any communication with him ; and Hermionc had not
answered. The reason was simple : she had not received the
letter, which had somehow found its way to the Vicarage, and from
the hands of Mr. I .ascelles to the fire. She fretted a good deal at
this complete abandonment — so unlike Richard, she used to think —
but she had no chance of learning the truth, and perhaps
mental thraldom in which she was held it would have changed
nothing if she had learnt it.

Ringrove often went to see the N too. He thong

dark-eyed llec tl : girl of her 1.

four seas, and that kind, if not so lofty, not so id

: lately beautiful, infinitely restful to a man like himself — good,
generous, manly, but a little high-handed and more than

':ie to jealousy. He knew what would come— not !»ut

pmeoth/; and he knew that when that moment did come, soft,

its face t> i
humid e> i
moment what «he Wnow now, how that she loved !

kid loved him for long months, unaduMwtVA^' osa.

Under which Lord? 539

and rejoiced 5n by him. He would never suffer her or her mother
to sajr a slighting word of either Herniione or Virginia ; and by his
own steadfast honesty performed that difficult task of keeping well
with common friends who have split asunder and gone into opposing

ips.

The most miserable man in the place at this time was George
Traitor and coward" Tom Moorhead called him, and
at him like a gorilla when the young caqienter passed his
forge on his way to morning prayer. Sometimes he called himself
the same, if at others he knew that he had sacrificed what was
dearest and easiest to give that " sort of a something " a chance, and
to bear witness to the truth as it had slowly manifested itself to him.
Nevertheless he was always downcast and forlorn, and with the sense
of dishonour and exile about him. His father-in-law was ever the
same to him ; but when these darker days came all but John turned
still more wrathfully against him ; and even Dick Stern, moderately
mild as he was by nature, spoke for his benefit the parable of the
cuckoo and how the rats leave the sinking ship.

Nanny was miserable too. Her father's misfortunes preyed on
icr heart ; her husband's incurable sadness made their well-ordered
little home no better than a place of wailing, and neutralized the
happiness that love and prosperity and virtuous living would else
have given them ; the baby was weakly and kept her always in a
state of restless anxiety ; this in its turn hurt her health, which had
never been sound, and made the melancholy of her home deeper
and more pronounced. When the little creature slipped through
her hands, in spite of all her care, and died just at that time of
dawning intelligence which most endears a child to its mother, then
poor Nanny felt as if her cup was indeed full, and life too truly a
valley of tears without sunshine now or joy to come. To be sure
Mr. Lascclles and all the clerical body told her that she ought to
rejoice, not weep; for that her little one had been Liken up straight
into heaven, where it was one of the blessed angels ever singing the
praises and glory of God It was far better off, they assured her,
than if it had lived to grow up a prince; but the mother's heart bled
if the Christian's faith was assured, and she shed as many tears, poor
woman, as if her babe had gone to the Bottomless Pit :— As it
would have done, said the vicar, laying down the chart of the Un-
seen with a firm hand and a broad brush, had it died unbapti/ed.

So things went on till the day came of ecclesiastical triumph in
the reopening of the church— the culmination of all things for the
present moment.

54Q

The Gentleman's Magazine.

Restored and beautified, this church of St Mr had
Angels was like a cathedral of small dimensions, and was fitted with
every kind of ornament, lawful and unlawful. It had painted win-
dows, saints in niches, caned stalls for the choir, a rercdoc, anda
rood screen, a magnificent organ, a superb lectern, an irremovable
crucifix on the altar, lighted candies, and a lamp ever burning in
honour of the Real Presence. It had open benches, and no sots
assigned to anyone, though so many f seats in the parish church "
went with the leases of all lands and houses ; a finely rarved con
fessional stood at the north-cast side ; the altar was adorned «th
flowers, recalling that 1 >ay of 'thanksgiving now, to judge by evenu,
so long ago; and it seemed as if Mr. (ascetics had determined to
try the question with his parishioners and understand now at oru*
what they would bear and how far he could go.

The bishop of the diocese, being Moderate, had not been i
to honour this reopening. Mr. 1-ascelles, preaching unqualified i
mission to the laity, paid neither obedience nor respect to ha i
superiors unless they carried the same flag as himself; and he had i
especial horror this diocesan of his, who, he maintained, had I
wrongfully appointed and was unfit to be the Church's ruler, !
he was a Protestant, an Erastian, and a loyal citizen as well asack
Hence there was no kind of check on the day's demon
Processions and banners, genuflexions and incense, vestment* I
candles— everything was there . and the travesty of kunianismt
complete. The party sent its chief men as sympathise:
sentatives, and the clerical array which they made wa* both in
and important. The organist who came down to open the orjn
was the best man in London ; the Sisti rs who had suddenly foe*
necessary to visit the Convalescent Home were among the I
members of the most extreme Orders. Every possible ritualistic I
Janet had been made use of, every available wandering feigta hil
ban got bold Ol ; and .nice Crossholmc had been a parish aid'
had never seen so gorgeous a display of ecclesiastical finery <* '
clerical magnificence.

Whatever, in the way of splendid sensuousness of ritual, the I
vice had been on the Day of Thanksgiving for the Harvest, thts, <
the reopening of the restored church, surpassed it as much as I
Ml surpasses a mountain lake There were no temporary hussr*
like print and calico substitutes for the real tiling to-day •, noroai
offerings of perishable prcttincss and questionable cccksn*
tical taste— all in use for this opening set vice was solid, oxiuri*!
costly; and the needlework alone represented a small fortune. &■

Under which Lord? 541

I and vestments, altarcloths, cucharistic linen, offertory baps,
of the finest material and the most elaborate embroidery ; the
chalice and paten were of gold set round with precious stones; the
crucifix of the fairest ivory on the closest-grained ebony was a superb
work of art. No expense had been spared to make the display
supreme : and whatever objection might be raised by certain here-
tical Protestants, Mr. I.nscelles took care that for this day at least
he would display his power and suffer no stint of splendour in ritual
or appointments.

^ The whole parish had assembled to take part in the ceremony,
among the rest the Ncsbitts and Ringrove Hardisty — the church-
den on the side of the parish. This was not a sectarian matter,
t argued, and it was parochial ; and their presence there — the
wort notorious objectors to the new order of things as they were —
betokened assertion of their rights rather than deference to the
vicar or acceptance of his programme. But Virginia and Sister
Agues with that poor foolish mediaeval ape, Cuthbert Molyneux,
verr absent; and both to Ringrove and the Nesbitts it seemed as
if the want of that fair, sweet girl who had knelt beside her mother
the Harvest Festival, made all the rest cold and poor.
They looked at Hermione to see. whether any memory of what she
Kid lost flitted across her face, but they could read nothing there save
the bewilderment of spiritual intoxication, the stupor of a drugged
conscience, the feverish delirium of the widow voluntarily perform-
ing suttee. She had been presented to all these wandering eccle-
siastical lights as the most shining beacon of the day. It was she
▼ho had done this, she who had done that ; she who had emptied
tfcoe jewels into the treasury of the Lord, and who was an example
to her generation for faithfulness and devotion. She had had to go
through trials and persecutions of all kinds, but she had stood firm
to the Church and true to her baptismal vows ; and now she had
etoqwred and was at peace. Satan had left her to the Lord who
hrf supported her, and her day of triumph had come.

At which all the clerical sympathizers had congratulated her, while
fcftgng holy stones at Apollyon's head ; and the loud blare of their
trumpets had for the moment drowned the still small voice which
B they could not wholly stifle. Small chance then that — kneeling
hoe at a kind of ecclesiastical Queen, the eldest daughter of the
Cfcnrch, spoken of by name in the vicar's sermon, conscious all
fhjoogh that she was the great lady of the day, and that her name
w*i3d be handed about from one to the other as thai of a sincere
Churchwoman who had done these good deeds for the parry in the

542

The Gentle;'.

face of persecution and contumely — small cliance thai, through all
this glittering ha» of vanity and self-deception, ugly thoughts and
sad memories would intrude, haunting her soul like ghosts in the
moonlight. No — she remembered nothing : she was « had

been made — bewildered, dragged and intoxicated.

When the service was about to begin, and just as the organ had
sounded the note which announced the arrival of the procession, jv
slight bustle at the side-door turned all heads to see what it was. It
was poor Theresa, carried in on the couch which she had discarded
now for some time for her bed. The vicar had never dreamed of
forbidding her to come to this Church festival, because he h.
dreamed of her attempting what was apparently impo
suicide; but, borne up by that strange flickering fever of the last days,
she had determined on making the one supreme effort, and now was
carried in, hoping that if she had to die she might die now and here.

Aunt Catherine, whose face had become rounder and sleeker
and more fatuous than before, walked by her
She had made no opposition to the girl's prop' contrary,

she had approved of it ; sure, as she said, that the saints woulii
her and give her strength for the exertion ; had she not prayed to
them and promised them public honours if they would ? And the
serenity on her mindless face was perhaps the most shockii
in the whole tragedy.

A thrill of horror passed through the congregation as the girl was
brought in, lying there on her couch like a dying devotee before i
shrine of Siva— the god who had been her destroyer ; but no one I
the pain of the situation more than Mr. Lascellcs. He had not seen
much of Theresa of late. She had ceased to be his tender care, and
had become only a " case " which it was part of his pastoral duty to
attend — he or another priest; and. for the most part, tltat ot:

Ik himself had gone past her, as he would have said had he
cussed his state of (eel

had given him all that ired — a study of ft i

example of implicit obedience, a hai

las much money a* he could squeeze oal
was of no more o
might depart and be at peace w

prolonged when . To

Mr. 1-ascclics, the devoted priest, men

stances i ey

were useful to the I
reproach or'a blow in the face, Whtw *>c %k« >2e«. mtm.\«A. seJw • ■ .

UntUr which Lord*

the poor girl lying there in the church where she could see the
altar and hiui, and gaze up bit i during his sermon. It was

not pleasant to look at her and know that ihfaj WW hit work ; hut he
had had to meet the like unpleasantnesses before now ; and was he
>tecled xs well . i. oned by his sacred office? If women

would be fools, and take him as a man when he ottered himself as a
priest, on i .. be the sin, the shame, and the pun: .hnuiii

mded by the halo of his office, was clear,
'lliis was his rapid thought as he walked round the church with
joined hand* held before him ; his eyes, which saw everything, cast
humbly on the ground ; his shining satin vestments glistening in the
sunlight xs lie passed the open door and across the light of the
windows; his heart swelling with pride. U "lie part of his great
object was thus magnificently accomplished. Fortunately for the
peace of the congregation Theresa was too weak to make any
hysterical outbreak. She lay during the service in a kind of trance,
conscious only of the heavy clouds of incense which rose up about
the altar, touched by the surrto gold, and enveloping the officiating
priests in a glory that likened him to Moses or to One yet more
ivine — conscious only of the thrilling music that now sighed in
ication, now swelled in triumph through the church, stirring up
vague, delightful images of a love which was at once human and
divine, and creating that kind of ecstasy which satisfies all desires
and perfects all emotions. She heard his voice, of which in her
half unconscious state the music seemed only the continuance; she
saw his face transfigured in glory, half-tcvealcd, half-hidden, in the
golden cloud that seemed to lift him from the gross material earth
and cany him i 0 heaven. It was all indeed like heaven

visible and entered for her ; and as she looked at the window i
she had given Magdalen worshipping at the feet of Christ — she
lost herself in her rj ind delicious delirium, and was herself

the woman while he was the nod.

So the service passed, without a break or hitch. Many atfl
and many yimtix men wen carried out of themselves by that
passionately sensuou.-. emotion which a splendid ritual e\< ite.s. Aunt

rinc was smiling all over hei round, fresh-coloured, appl<
while tears of ecstatic im'.iei ility ran down her checks ; and Hermione
was always the Queen who had done great things for her people —
the Daughter of the Church who had honoured her Mother.

tv lu;n the service came to an end and all who would went up
to the Abbey for breakfast, as they called what was substantially
luncheon — the triumph of the day was complete. Mr. Lascclles

pnest

divini

"PI '

544 The Gentleman s Magazine.

took the foot of the principal table ; and for the moment Hcrmione

did not remember that he was in her husband's phi & In il.i

of such guests, such circumstances as surruundcd her, the |irescn<c

of that husband would have bei i

to be regretted ; and in truth .-.he did not remember him at all
The drums wctc tOO badly best) n lierally

used for thought or reflection to be possible- She was surrounded by
a crowd of courtiers each of whom vied with the other in praises,
flatteries, congratulations. Mr. I-asccllt in hit ikened her

to all the gracious women of old, and made her fair face I
the lusciousness and strength of his praise ; needy priests with
"cases'' .iii<l cluse-iisii-d or impel gauni

unfurnished churches and |i At ecclesiastical finery, bu;
her as flics round the honey-pot. wondering if they cohM get
anything out of her for themsdret, and, if anything al
much ;— the whole thing was like a bridal day with a shadowy
bridegroom somewhere m the distance. She bad never been so
nappy, she thought to herself — indeed, until now she had
known true happiness at all ! She w lessedncss

that almost rivalled Theresa's passionate ecstasy — the stale in which,
whether the occasion be right or wrong, the sentiment true or false,
the human nature to which wc give such fine nanv , letely

satisfied, leaving us no more to ask of fate or fortune.

Ml day long this delicious excitement was kept up. Breal
over, there were more splendid and intoxicate
church, where Hcrmione was always the Eldest Daughter Of
sacred Mother The services over, there was at
the Abbey, where she was the beautiful and bone f the

I .and, hemmed round by her obsequious courtu ct -voiced

flatterers. But all things come to an end in time, and so
glorious day of ecclesiastical triumph. When the 1
from the organ had died away in sighing whispers through the empty
-when the List glass of wine had been drunk in the Abbey—
then the company began to depart, tncl' ow on

the meadow Lascelles himself was fun ed bj

to go too, accompany

icw, when one after the other I
with iinagcsand ghosts. 1 Ion Strang
Hcrmione ; and yet how i

;is wc do when we suddenly pass from a «<— f-**rifl n<
ss, and by thai
A certain Sister, one Svsvcr laovka,Vi*A «.vf«& \\»« Vtw. n«

Under which Lord? 545

She was Edith Everett's especial friend, and the two bid bun
upstairs when the last priest had shaken hands with this fair fared
Mother in Israel, and had laid his parting contribution of Mattery .u
her feet. Now they came down — Edith as well U the Sister in her
cloak and bonnet.

^■• I am going to Starton." she said to Ilerminne. " Sister Monica
not stay here for the night, 1 am sorry to say."
" No," said the Sister. " < >ur dear Kdith was good enough to ask

mc, but I must get back to C to-night."

" I have ordered the carriage; it is at the door now," said Mrs.
Everett quite tranquilly. "Come, dear Sister, you will be late if
y<3« do not make haste."

" Good -bye, Mrs. Fullerton. 1 am sure you must feel happy to-
night," sail I llu Sister, smiling.

"Good-bye, Sister; yes, I do," answered Hermione with a
troubled face. "You will come back soon, dear?" she asked of
Edith, turning to her anxiously.

Her guide and friend — her guest and mistress — smiled con-
ptuously.

•I shall not run away," she said smoothly but coldly, as she
ried out of the room.

And now Hermione was alone. That delicious turmoil was over
—that intoxicating excitement had passed — the day of her triumph
hid come to an end, and she was one c more herself and alone. The
solitude to wbii h she was unused, and naturally disinclined, touched
her to-night with double force. The silence hung about her like
some grim companion from which she could not free herself; thoughts
•hich had been pressed back in her mind by the invading influences
of the day gathered with greater volume, more loud insistance to
be heard. All was so empty — everything so distant ! In this large
house even the very servants might have been miles away; and not
a sound crept out of the stillness to break the loneliness and gloom
of the moment.

She wandered up and down the room, restless, nervous, in dumb
di«trcss and vague unreasoning terror. She went into the dining-
room whence all had been cleared and jmt in order — not a chair
displaced to mark the stations of her triumphal course and bring back
the living memory like .1 presence; she crossed the hall, intending to
go upstairs to her own room, but dragged as by a secret influence — a
"spirit in her feet" — she turned aside and took the passage that led
to the study.

Half frightened, half longing, she opened the door, with I wild kind

LV. MO. I787. N N

546 The Gentleman's Magazine.

of childish hope as if she could possibly expect to find Richard there.
All here too swept and garnished ! — all evidence of that inl":;
ton resence gone ! It ma the first time since her husK

departure that she had visited the room, and the shock of its changed
aspect was almost beyond her Btrength to bear, overwrought and
weakened as bj bJI that had happened in the day. How

much rather than this cold spiritual t-h-nnlincss would she
preferred to see those sinful evidences of his abominabl 0 !—

how she would have welcomed even a hideous skull, or the godless,
soul-destroying portraits of a nosed ape and a flat-faced savage set
side by side "erul parallels, \l| gone ! — even that criminal

:i< icssor}- to infidelity, the microscope — and those dumb witnesses of
agnosticism, the spectroso rams and the maps of the moon!

1 1 was like going into a mausoleum where she had looked for signs
of pain and horror ; and found only emptiness more painful, more
horrible -nil

At last, lying half hidden by some papers in a corner of the
bookshelf, she saw the cast of a ded fish and a sheet of paper

whereon her huslund himself had figured • went of the

bird's skeleton from that of the reptile. No one was there to see her,
no one to ridicule or < took the cast of that ugly

two-headed i it, and her tears (ell on that rudely drawn

picture, from which she well knew some abominable conclusion had
once been drawn. The reaction ■ dden and violent as a

physiologist might have foreseen; and she stood by the bookshelves
weeping for her lost love, for the banished lord of her past 1
man whom she herself had driven out — weeping passionately and
bitterly. Then she went and sat down in his chair by his writing-
table— where ah« had sat when he asked her to 9tgn those leases, and
whence her id banished him for e

Had she done right. 3ftcr all ? He was her hu&lund, am ! .
an atheist, such a good man I and so true to hi
that she could see him again ! Oh, if she could but
hex arms round hi) d feel his roun k loved her

as he had— as he did. Superior was charming and delightful, bu>
everyone alike, and in reality mo J to Edi:1

her ; but her husl I been hers, and i

oneness, such unbroken fidelity, till Till

agnosticism or your defection?

her conscience answered u
sac/ .AVwefcv

Under which Lord?

547

suadcd to perform. The glittering heights had been won. but the
poor, weak, foolish heart turned back to the warm and leafy hollows
where she had lived and loved ; and the wife regretted what she had
lost more than the Churchwoman rejoiced in what she had won.

When Edith Everett came home she found her still sitting there
weeping — Nenesi at last i omc up with her and overtaken

her.

" Poor child ! " said Mr. Lascelles with artificial tenderness,
when this was reported to him; "she needs firm handling and in-
cessant care."

" Yes," said Edith Everett, with as artificial smoothness : " and
■he shall have both."

" At your good hands?— of that I am convinced," he said.
"And she answered. "But" — in another voice —

" she will go back to her husband, Superior. Believe me, I know
the kind so well ' "

•■ You arc too timid, dear friend. I think she will be faithful,"
he replied

" And you are Wo sanguine, dear Superior ! Remember my
words when the time comes) And take my advice: Make her do
now what you wish her to do at all. The day will come when your
reign will be over "
He smiled at this.

'• My reign will never be over, because it is the reign of the
Church," he said with humility. " And I have assured that here ! "
lit idded with triumph.

At that moment the servant brought in a letter. It was from
ie giving him notice that he, the churchwarden and Aggrieved
hioncr, would carry a complaint to the bishop, objecting to the
r*J papist-.ral obscrv;::

Mr. Lascelles slightly snapped his well-kept fingers.
Worth just tl : said, with a calm smile, flicking a speck

om his sleeve.

(To be concluded.)

n n a

SIS: g ££

se*~ •---" 35tf« -*r^

eVCI> r, fas husband

cuckoo
Heic*this»,

■** •«, hw «***
Wi^edbct*0]

' ">T *"%* 1

1<L

548

The Gmtlemans Magazine.

HER MAJESTY'S NEXT
MINISTERS.

SIK WILFRID i.\\vsfiv.s attempt il Newcastle to eon
Li I ii t;il i 'ahiiKM ■■ ;irlj lame for •' ni.

many yi in ol his lift amid politics, and who maybe presume:
know something of the row hinery of ll ni In itvot

critii isea " Lord Granville for Premierand
of Lords, Mr. Gl ccllor of the Exchequei

ILirtrngtun for Leader of the Commons, and Loi D< by Foreign
Minnicr," .ire suggestion! whii li go a very short way towards the
completion ol .1 Cabinet Indeed, the suggestion does not leave
Wiitrid Lamon free from suspicion of believing that the post
Leadei of the Hon minons is, ftr st, a Cabinet offi« •

that when he had assigned it to Lord Hartington he had finally
disposed of th;it gentleman's claims to 1
bution to speculation on tin- persomd of the next liberal Minis
this adumbration was singularly worthless But it was remark,
for two consequents. In the first pi 11 e, I somewhat more than
Liberal ipl Hided the nomination of Lord

Derby to the Foreign Secretaryahip in » Liberal Administration;
and next. Sir Wilfrid's crude conclusions have served to 1
chorus of suggestions and guesses which show how profound!;
interested the nation is in the personal possibilities of the
liberal Administration.

1 ilikc of personages and 01 umly

unparalleled in interest. The next Pa I imem,or|
precise, the Parfiameni after next, is likely to make (01 mo

morabtc plftCe bl h StOI '

I in power, and th<- •uaUk

that before the bro

and Conservatism, but upon ll
scarcely: ral camp itself Note *:

lakci rhen the next Liberal A

^talesmen Wh av Wcvt w\d abroad will w
bund intern* the neanan frt\o*t»Mtafc,«^*-,fi\&\v\.c>\>t*.\«

the Radical section.

Her Majesty s Next Ministers.

549

Just now, however, the main interest lies in the question, What
will Mr. Gladstone do? It is a notable sign of the times that the
conviction, slowly growing, has now universally spread, that Mr.
Gladstone can do exactly what he pleases. Two years ago men,
more particularly men who live in London, would have been able
with great complacency to draw up on paper a Liberal Cabinet
without paying undue deference to the caprices of Mr. Gladstone. It
was the fashion to think th.it i! he would only restrain his passionate
preference for truth as compared with expediency, his acceptance of
the office of Chancellor of the Exchequer would be very useful- ft
not, the new Government would get on very well without him ; Mr.
Childcrs,in particular, being not free from the conviction that a very
iiir substitute could be found as Finance Minister. But Mr.
Gladstone's position has altered materially during the last two
years. The tide is still strongly running after the turn ; and it is
exceedingly probable thai in the excitement and enthusiasm of a
general election all nice calculations of the fitness of things may be
rudely swept aside, and popular acclamation may peremptorily settle
the question of the Premiership.

As for Mr. Gladstone's pergonal feelings and intentions on this
viiii. thej an exceedingly difficult to gauge. If we bind him by
like letter of his own repeated affirmations, he has finally done with
official We, and wc may save ourselves the trouble of discussing
whether he will vtoop to accept the Chancellorship of the Exchequer,
w whether he will permit himself to be lifted on the crest of the
wave of popular enthusiasm to the heights of the Premiership. But
even while Mr. Gladstone was protesting his yearning after rest he
wis engaged in a campaign which he has himself described as
carried on by a single-handed volunteer against the serried ranks
and infinite resources of a Government. We may at once put aside
all question of Mr. Gladstone's physical and mental ability to
enter ujion a fresh campaign as Premier of a Liberal party pledged
to "do something." During the last session he proved more than
once that, though his age be seventy by the almanac, it is not more
than fifty in point of vigour and endurance. At the end of a speech
"f three hours' duration, during which he has incessantly mamciivrcd
an infinitude Of details, liis magnificent voice has betrayed no
tone hi uiritncss, his nervous frame has been filled with life and
as strong and as bright as when he Stood up, and the terrible
iousness has been borne in upon his auditory, that if provoca-
wcre given, and the rules of debate permitted, he would be
dy ten minutes later to rise again and discuss the same matter

55°

The Gentleman s Magazine.

from a fresh point of view. There is, then, nothing to
way of Mr. Gladstone resuming his natural position. At the critical
moment everything will depend upon his own judgment and inclina-
tion, which latter, it may lie observed, has always run strongly in the
direction of personal supremacy. He was not born to pi
fiddle in any orchestra, and his recent self-imposed attempt has
i iii.lly resulted, in producing discord.

It is quite true that Mr. Gladstone could not cany on the
Queen's Government with the present Liberal party in the House of
Commons, even if they were in a majority. 'lTterc is a singular lack
of sympathy between him and them, which in some coses goes the
length of actual personal dislike. This is a position for which Mr.
Gladstone has himself chiefly to thank. It is easy to imagine that
comets, however brilliant, arc not personally popular in a well-ordered
solar system. Mr. Gladstone will through all history lie under the
aspersion of having, in a ft of petulant despair, abandoned k*
party when a sudden reversal of fortune smote it. That, how-
ever, was perhaps 001 the worst. If he had really acted in the
spirit of the letter which he wrote to " My dear Granville," iron
Carlton HOOK Terrace, on the 30th of January 1875, the Liberal
party would have suffered a great loss, but it would actually have bee
free from a disquieting influence. " At the age of 65," Mr. Ckadstox
lien wrote, " and after 42 years of a laborious public life, 1 that
myself entitled to retire on the present opportunity. This retires**
is dictated to me by my personal views as to tike best method <t
spending the closing years of my life." These " views," as carried 0*
in action, have appeared to be that Mr. Gladstone should be con-
stantly dashing in upon the even tenour of political life, always «*
some high purpose, never without glowing eloquence, but, as it fe-
quendy happened, disconcerting the schemes laboriously dram «F
»r the preservation of such wreck of the Liberal party as was kft»
tie result of his capricious appeal to the constituencies in 1874. " V«
never know when you have Gladstone," one of his colleague* on the
front ( i;. position bench sadly said, after the old Chief had made x sad-
den flank movement which succeeded in utterly routing his o«n "fc
This characteristic is an insuperable bar to any safe predication it
to what he may do when the time comes to form a Liberal Mm**-
1 had a recent opportunity of severally consulting on this point r«o«f
the right honourable gentleman's intimate 6 One said, ■iAo*

hesitation, that Mr. Gladstone, sinking all personal feeling and noW»
smothering a just ambition, was prepared to carry a musket in the
Liberal ranks, and as Chanccller of the Exchequer would meety

Ih-r Majesty's Next Ministers.

55i

follow the KaA BatingtOB it the House of Commons, and

would deferentially sit under the presidency of Karl Granville in the
Cabinet. The other assured me that he had heard from Mr. Glad-
stone's own lips the admission th.it there was "'only one place " in a
Liberal Administration that he could fill without loss of self-respect
or of personal dignity, and that, whilst he was quite content to remain
without office, he could accept nothing under the Premiership. The
simple fact probably is, that no one knows anything on the subject
— least of all Mr. Gladstone. The letter quoted on the last page is
useful a* supplying a key to this marvellous mind. No one can doubt
that when he wrote it he had firmly and finally decided to retire from
active participation in public life, and pictured himself happily engaged
in translating and annotating Homer, as Sir William Temple, tempo-
rarily out of favour at Court, placidly retired to cultivate fruit-trees at
Sheen. What Mr. Gladstone says now on the subject of the part he
will play in the next Liberal Administration is just as honestly spoken
as was his solemn declaration to Earl Granville publicly made in 1875
—and is worth precisely as little.

I venture to think that the arrangement which would be the best
for the country, and certainly would best meet the complex condition
of the Liberal party, is that Mr. Gladstone should accept the Chancel-
lorship of the Exchequer, that Lord Harrington, either as Foreign Sc-
M mister for War, should lead the House of Commons, and
that the titular office t>f Premier should be conferred on Earl Granville.
The only difficulty in each an arrangement would be found on the
side of Mr. Gladstone. The right honourable gentleman stands to-
wards his colleagues somewhat in the same relation thai Capability
Brown filled towards his royal master. He was George 1 II. 's head
gardener, and exercised within his domain an autocratic rule, which,
whilst fully admitted, was secretly resented. In roursc of time Hrown
(lied, and the King made haste to visit his emancipated gardens.
"Ha: John," Majesty to the working gardener, gleefully

rubbing his hands, " now that old Brown is dead, you and I can
do as wc please !" I iong as Mr. Gladstone lives, it will be impos-

e for his colleagues to " do as they please."

Of Lord Harrington's claims to especial consideration there
be no question. Me has, at considerable sacrifice of personal
tion, served the Liberal cause at a great crisis. It is one
thing to lead to victory a triumphant and high-spirited party ; it is
quite another to sustain it through defeat, and steadily to fight a
losing bottle. I-ord Hartington has performed the latter duty, and
has thereby established a claim upon party recognition, and even party

do:

incl

552 The Gentleman's Magazine.

gratitude, which it would be Fatally disci t-rlook. It

possible, and even probable, that Lord Harrington would graii-i
accept any disposition of affairs that should leave hie torn

uncongenial cares and boring respon It is this indirTcr^

to the common objects of political ambition that have made him
rly successful in the office he undertook, udw nearly five years
ago. At a lime when there was a good deal of heartburning, and
some undignified scrambling foi Mr. Gladstone had cast

down, it wus well to : idlj taken up by a man above all

suspicion of self-seeking. IjotA Harrington was l»m to some
honours; but irfaftl others he has acquired beyond his patrimony have
been thrust upon him, Straightforward, stead ind

strong, he has been the one stable element in Liberalism in oppi
tion. lb baa DOl pleased everybody. On a notorious occasion
ha<l the Duafbrtune to Bnd Mr, Chain i icvously differing from

liim. Bui bis patience, his courage . and his modesty

have shielded him bom those personal attacks and unworthy
ahich, with singular regularity, follow public men, on
whichever ride of me House the) rii The bh neat

Lord Harrington has at hit ired as a Icadei in • of Commons

justifies the expectation tliat under the sua of prosperity his sterling
qualities would further dcvelope. Already, and in existing circura-
oiccs, the leader of the nunoritj carries more personal weight

in the House than the leader of the majority, W

been brought into an inextricable muddle whUii t i . . ivuial incapatity
■ i 1 1 .• I banceDorol the Exchequer has vainly strivi

0 I OTtJ Hartington that the House looks to \k let! out of i<
Nor docs u look m vain. His strong common sense, sound judg-
ment, and constitutional coolness, shine in moments of difficulty,
and he says the right thing in fewest possible words.

Regarded simph a leader of the House, I am not sure that lie
is not preferable to Mr. Gladstone. He has the great gift — of which
Mr. Gladstone is wholly devoid— of occasionally usefully sarin*,
nothing. Mr. Gladstone is always on the alert
sees not only the actual, but the contingent movement
ad'. nbativc n the

Bra] lord Hartington lha

the i»r« and look

: versant a
bow

tto< | \«A» «*. *»

lf,y Majesty s bftxt Mini:

553

■M

Opposition. This calls up the stars of I ptrltode, tod i

: ii, Hill" ioual) left alone, might have flickered nut,

to the de • it) dI " ' E I in En the

position he has elected to assume, it is only by a supreme effort
tli.it Mr. Gladstone GUI keep out of any fray that arises duruv
presence in the House. What would happen if he wen leader it ll
eu? and pain(bl to prognosticate. What iswanted in the Leader of the
House of Comn | lata] flu iliiy of speech, even though allied

-pi |enia < onnnon ■■■ ■ ■ unfathomable

patience, sound judgment, and (for preference igainst the greater
ti ndency to taciturnity, form a combination of qualities that
should make ■ successful b ider HI the* art bund in Lord
rtington.

re arc two principal offices in the Administration cither of
Lord Haiti idmSnbly qualified to fill Hisacoeptaaee

of the portfolio of Minister of Wll would be highly popular in the
Army, and the duties of the office arc of a nature congenial to his
own tastes. To undertake itioh as office would be to go back to

ir work, for Lord HartingtOU Served an apprenticeship of three
years as Under-Secretary for War, and in the last months of Earl

lis administration was at the head of that department. There
ia, however, a post which not only has the liu-lm i.mk which Lord
Harrington1 tie Irfan to, but which he is eyen nan con

spkuourlv adapted to tall. The talk about Lord Derby accepting
he Liberals as Foreign Mini die present time at

least, without other foundation than conjecture. The rumour has
birth something in this way. Lord Derby was Foreign Secretary in
: rat ion ; he differed from his colleagues on
a particular question, and temporarily found himself in unison with
Liberal sentiments; •*$*/, when the Liberals get their turn, he will be
Foreign Secretary. All this may come to DOM, In the mean time,
.imstantial rumours about "sounding Lord Derby" are silly
invent!, dispose of them, it is enough to ask, who is in the

•■rtakc the " sounding " ? To approach such a nego-
tiation, one must be sure of Ins nun jiosition, and have in hand
a well-defined scheme of tlvc Cabinet which he is to lead, and which
Lord Derby i- to fOISI I he thing is not true . and if it were, it were
much to Ik- regretted. Lord Derbj :r shown any eridi nee of

ability I unreasoning admiration with which his nan

ertain quartan, it i- true that il ■ • rim al lime he adminis-
tered a severe check to the bombastic policy of Lord tteajyst«Svt\i\.
But no one < ed his character Y«ra\d Yv&nc wcowsrAi a.«i-

554 l lte Genlltmaus Magtuine.

thing different from him at such a crisis. He il naturally of a
Meter averse to prompt and striking action. IK- likes t
and sec." This is an admirable negative quality, and it nerved both
Lord Beaconsneld and Great Britain a good turn when it led l.ord

to throw his burly body across the pathway of thi
the sun to which the Premier had harnessed those impetuous
Lord Salisbury and Gat home Hardy. But there are epochs when it
would be as fatal to " wait and sec " as it would be recklessly to push
ad Lord Detbjr could be counted on only to wait and see. It
would be a pity if the Liberals could not find within their own
men capable of filling the highest offices of the State, and they can
certainly do very well without I. nil Darby. Lord Hartington has full
measure of those very qualities which the | prut* in the Utc

Foreign Secretary. He is not of hasty temperament, and is not
likely to be led away by the frenzy of a panic. But, in addition to
this negative quality, be knows when to ' i. tad has the courage to

Mite up ind statu a ground

Earl Granville would gladly forego the toils of the Foreign Office,
and would gncefllttyank into the minor position of Premier of a
( iabtnet to which Mr. Gladstone worked as Chancellor of the Exche-
ami Mr. Bright auiweted lot the Duchy of Ljncsater. Lord
Granville hked the Foreign Secretaryship well enough in quiet timet,
and performed its ceremonial duties with unexampled grace. But
when the sea grew troubled, he would himself admit that he was
scarcely strong enough for the helm. He has a con
taste for respoiltfhilhj, and there is perhaps no Minister upon

:kt of responsibility rests than up' foreign

Secretary. These is at the Foreign Office to ■ copy of a

despatch which Lord Gi rote during the Franco-German war,

in which occursthc phrase, '*Mr.Gladstone and 1 think " Thin way

i putting things, unprecedented at the Foreign Office, is charmingly

imcterisbV iville, who

himself behind ti ability of others. As 1

i nistration as that i follow the present or.'

be absolved from a good deal of responsibility. Personally t>-

h somewhat a) I principle .conly

man liktrjy to succeed in keeping the tieace among the remarkable

Of individual* who will W nistcnv

Moreover— and even in these das :all matter -Ik would

acceptable to the Queen ; wbu )i Mt. Gladstone would

not '

The honour is one. v altowiW .\to,»_ \*&.

Her Majesty's Next Ministers. 555

for the overpowering influence of Mr. Gladstone's genius, he was the
natural heir of Earl Russell when that statesman finally retired from
official life. There are no duties connected with the office which his
capacity would fall short of (airly aCCOmpii liing. He would not be,
either to the Sovereign, the country, to Parliament, what Mr. Glad-
stone was or I<ord Bcaconsficld is. But in the peculiar circumstances
of the next Liberal Administration he may, in his way, be not less
successful. There is one of Turner's water-colours in which the eye
is charmed by the perfect beauty of a landscape glowing in the rich
colours of the setting sun. Cn closer rumination it turns out that
the painter, in one of his flashes of reckless originality, had taken a
common red wafer and stuck it on tin- picture :it the spot where the sun
should be I wish to avoid the appearance of any comparison between
Earl Granville and a red wafer. But this little incident appears to
suggest that in some Cabinets, u m some pictures, if the composition
be harmonious and the colours skilfully blended, the precise character
of the nominally controlling influence is not of vital importance.

before proceeding further in an attempt to forecast the next
Liberal Administration, it may be convenient to point out those
members of the Gladstone Ministry who, for various reasons, are not
likely to reappear on the scene. I.ord Aberdare was virtually shelved
when he was made President of the Council, and it may now be fairly
supposed that his official career is closed. He was not a very
successful Minister when he had a seat in the Commons, though he
stumbled on some very useful legislation on the Licensing Laws, the
value of which is more justly appraised now than it was at the time
of its inception. As a peer he has made no position for himself, and
it personally mote influential in the neighbourhood of Aberdare than
in the precox tl ol Westminster. 1 1 e will be joined in his retirement
by Iaxd Halifax, who in his 80th year may be accounted to have
done the State adequate service. These retirements will make two
desired openings, which it will not be difficult to fill. The
Presidency of the Council and the Privy Seal arc two honourable
ofices reserved for statesmen who have borne the heat and burden
of the day, and who have a right to the dignity and emoluments of
office, with some relief from its labour. Lord Cardwell is not old, as
statesmen arc reckoned : with a Premier at 74, and Mr. Gladstone
about to make a fresh departure in bis 71st year. Still, Lord Card-
well is far advanced on the shady side of 60, and thinks that lie his
hail his fair share ol work. He will, accordingly, get one of these
oificcs, and the other will fall to the lot of the Duke of Argyll. 1
know that this last statement is at variance with appearances upon

556

The Gentleman's Magazine.

which are based many confident rumours that reinstate the
in his former position at the India Office, or give him a fresh field of
hb6ur at the War Office The Duke is quite a youth among the
Ncstors dI tin: House of Lords, and his recent undertakings both
with pen and tongue seem to show tliat his strength is i: mapped
The truth nevertheless is, 'hat tin- Duke is nut in good health,
not inclined to take any office that involves ;tiention or un-

remitting labour. At the same time, no Liberal Ministry would be
complete without him. and he will consequently become cither Lord
President of the Council or lx>rd Privy Seal.

Another and infinitely more distinguished man than the t*e
Domed will retire to take up an indc|tendent position when tie
next Liberal Ministry is formed. Mr. Lowe by his speech on the
county franchise question pronounced his own retirement iron
further participation in officio] life This will be a great loss tolbc
intellectual capacity of the Ministry rather than a blow at itictnay-
day usefulness. Intellectually Mr. Lowe is head alders ulkt

than any man save two on the front Opposition her,. iHbm

not comparable with him in mental capacity excel hira in Ac
performance ol matter o!-l.u t Ministerial dutu He will Ibrw »
dangerous contingent to a Liberal Ministry which be thl
or exhort from a hack bench or a scat below the gangway,
position is likely to become doubly dangerous should

ability be realised, and should Mr. Goschen join his
colleague in exile from the front bench. It K to MS I

Mi Goschen could join the next Litter*] Cabinet, which tn»
pledged amongst its fust works to assimilate the liorough and |
franc Use Mr. Lowe's exile will in permanent; Mr. Cuschert
be only temporary, for, the political conscience not
tivc, he will return to his old colleagues upon the first iwonttmtd
Of the Cabinet that shall take pi* e after the new instalment of it
has been irrevocably granted.

Descending again in reviewing the last Ministry, wc shall and I
vacancy at the Ixtcal Government Board created by the
once of Mr. Stanateld. Mr. StansfcM was tl»c Child of Promt*
Mr. Gladstone's Administration. Me had held several minor t
up to 1869, when for a space he dropped from the •'iticial
In 1871, however, he was suddenly rediscoi was

President of the Poor law Board, being advanced in a few
to the dignity of Cabinet Councillor and to a more responsible |
tionat the Local Government Board, the Pi cy of «thka

indeed, specially created for him. 11 advancement was

Her Majesty's Next Ministers. 557

as the tribute which prosperous Liberalism paid to rampant Radical-
ism; and Mr. Gladstone's preference for the voluble member for
Halifax was much talked of— in some quarters with fear, in others
with hope — as one of the signs of the times. Somehow or other, the
high hopes which clustered round Mr. Stansfcld were doomed to
disappointment. He made a great many long speeches in the House,
and worked sedulously in his office. But there gradually grew the con-
viction that there had been a mistake somewhere, and that Mr.
Stansfcld was not quite the man he was thought to be. The right
hon. gentleman tacitly acquiesced in this view of the situation, and
has so far faded, dial his name is not even mentioned in connec-
tion with the next distribution of officii] prizes.

It ii much to be feaied that another gentleman, who in point of
general ability may be bracketed just below Mr. Stansfeld, will
I in gunlettng himself into olhcc again. Jt is to Mr. Stansfcld's
that he has shown himself a little stunned by the persistent
chorus whiih minimises his merit. Mr. Shaw-I.efevrc has a noble
imperturbability of conceit that makes him proof against any such
weakness. He not only thinks he is a rising statesman, but, in spite
of many manifestations to the contrary, he honestly believes that this
view is shared by the House of Commons. There is a silent force
in mediocrity when thus endowed with insensibility of which it would
be wise to take account I therefore think that we shall see Mr.
Shaw-Lcfcvrc on the Treasury bench again, though probably not in
one of those offices which he regards as justly his own, and which
alternate between the Chancellorship of the Exchequer and the War
Office, the Admiralty and the Home Office ; or even, if unmeaning
tradition might be laid aside, and the offices were disposable to a

i commoner, Mr. Shaw-Lefevre would answer for India or undertake
the charge of Foreign Affairs.
A subordinate member of the last Ministry, of somewhat weightier
character than the member for Reading, is Mr. Knatchbull-Hugcssen.
This gentleman'.', claims will be difficult to dispose of, owing to the
marked difference of opinion as to their precise value which exists
between himself and disinterested observers. The difficulty may
probably be overcome by a little na'iveli on the part of the Cabinet-
maker, and a little high spirit on the part of Mr. Knatchbull-Hugessen.
lake Mr. Shaw-Lefevre. the right hon. gentleman's vision ranges
among the higher offices of the State, and, in the interests of his
country, he cannot conceive a Cabinet Council complete in his
absence. He has served as Under-Secretary both in the Home
Department and in the Colonics, and to the statesmanlike view he is

55«

The Gentleman's Magazine.

at a moment's notice able to take of any great

adds knowledge of detail in these tv»t> important departments.

will, when th Comes, lie prepared to consider on offer of the

1 tone Office or the Colonies. He will p

tion to return to his former position !cr-Secretary,

moment of wounded pride he n

probably retire to a back b nMr which Mr. Disraeli

played when Sir Robert Peel had slighted him ; or at least he will at-
tempt to revive the traditions of another superior person now no more.
>ec already, thus for i:i die work of construct i leirutical

Ministry, how pretty ft Cave natural tbof

it wc find Mr. Shawl . ■■■rtly critical, guarding 01 Mr,

Knatchbull-Hugcsscn. on the other, |>onderously aggressive. In the
deeper recesses lurks i figure with white hair and eyebrows,

showing eerily in the gloom : whilst hovering around, nervously
hands and Axing h for a possible onslaught,

is Mr. Goschen.

With these i it will behove the to

elves by fresh s and these they will, of

course, find below the gangwi rtftin real

not only to

Charles Dilkc. Sir Charles has slo* I upanabi>!

reputation upon a basis of hard work. He sowed his wild oat:
the Parliament of 1 868, and achieved a wide reputation as a sort of
political saptur to whom nothing was sacred, not even the pt
of the turnspit of the royal kit. icj | he

has shown himself capable of making his way alo groove*

His growth in the e House has been gradual,

but it has been sure. When he gets the chan> now

almost within his grasp, Ik mself a model departmental

Minister. He is indl vA accurate, prom

hasty, and decisive wi ing brusque. The office he

till with perhaps of succc

has proved the sepulchre of so many rcputai
Office. This, hot Ircady appropriated by •

wli haw, the Horn: Rulct leader, has humorously pmtoSrd

his dread, to . .
be PostraastcT-Ocncr.il. I not usual

Of .utiie i i ,m

weight and [dea

i knowledged >ittc.

Her Majesty's Next Ministers.

559

The accession to the Ministerial ranks of the popular baronet who
represents Chelsea will strengthen the hands of the new Ministry
with the Radical section of the party, and it would be an act free
from the charge of reckless originality. There is one hold step open
to the constructors of the new Cabinet, from which il is trusted they
will not shrink. The appointment of Mr. Fawcett as principal

retary of State for India would be popular in England, and to
India would be a message of peace that would go far to soothe a
population harassed by the reckless policy of which Lord Lytton has
been made the facile instrument, and ground down by the exactions
consequent DpOfl its accomplishment. There arc few men who have
x more intimate acquaintance with India than has Mr. Fawcett, and
there is none who combines with the knowledge a quicker sympathy
with the needs of the people, or a more intelligent appreciation of
wood remedies. Since he has always been in opposition to the policy
of the India Office, it may be urged in objection to this nomination
that it would be revolutionary. Hut it is astonishing how speedily
the responsibility of office tames the impulses of theoretic reformers.
Moreover, if Mr. Fawcett has been wrong in his principal contention
with respect to financial policy in India, a Conservative Government
hare erred with him, for the Indian liudgct of this year was altered
in deference to the great principle which he has been advocating
for many years. An objection of another kind urged against the
appointment of Mr. Fawcett to a principal office of State rests
upon grounds of physical disability. This, however, is not worth
a moment's serious consideration. Mr. Fawcett, as all the world
knows, is blind; but he has already demonstrated that, in spite of
this disadvantage, he can sec farther and more clearly into Indian
affairs than others who have the full use of their eyesight. No one
who has heard him expound, in a speech of two hours' duration, an
argument built up upon intricate columns of figures and recondite
•nitrations can question nil ability to grapple with the details of
official work as it is tempered for Secretaries of State by permanent
officials.

Another appointment that appears naturally to suggest itself is that
of Mr. Chamberlain to the Presidency of the Local Government
Board. Mr. Chamberlain has been the prime mover, and remains
the principal director, of the marvellously developed local govern-
ment of the borough that returns him to Parliament. He would
bring to the performance of the duties of the office practical
experience and singular aptitude, whilst he would greatly strengthen
ihe debating power of the Treasury Bench. If a Secretaryship were

560

The GeittUnuins Magazine.

(bond for Mr. Mundella, long and faithful service to the Liberal
cause would be fitly rewarded, and 1-oid Granville would doohUeu
feel thai sufficient had been done to consolidate tlic alliance with the
Radical wing Another political interest might be conciliated, and a
valuable official be secured, by the nomination of Lord Edmund

Fitnnawwciothe Irish Secretaryship r appointment which

might be expected to prove as acceptable to the Irish Members at
any other that is feasible. I>ord Edmund has always shown an
anxious desire at least to understand Irish grievsacea before ptr>
nouncing against them : which is more than can l>e said for the
present distinguished holder of the office in question.

There still remain half-a-dozcn of the principal offices unaxsignci
But their disposition is less open to question than some of thoi*
discussed. The Lord Chancellorship will naturally revert cm larrf
Sclborne. Iavd Kimberley has a strong desire to undertake Ac
duties of the Foreign Office ; but as these would, for rcaxm
indicated, be better performed by lx>rd llartington, his lofihhf
may be induced to serve his country at his old post al the Coknial
Office In a similar way, Mr. Childers would be best pleased ik
might become Chancellor of the Exchequer. The nation in S
perversity would prefer Mr. Gladstone ; and Mr. Childers will
to the scene of his many triumphs at the Admiralty. Mr.
who rather likes office if it be of a kind which doe* not strain
permanently overtaxed energies, nill dawdle with the iHicsy si
Lancaster, and pour contempt on any who may differ from
matters of opinion. Mr. Forster will preside at the Board of Ti
Mr. Adam will be confirmed in the |ioit of Chief Comnu
Works, of which he had brief experience in the last few monihic/
Gladstone's Ministry ; and Mr. Lyon Playfair will have an
tunity of utilising his wide knowledge of the business of ed
Vice-President of the Council.

The Home Office has been the common ambition of the
great luminaries whose transferrence from Mow the gangway to
Treasury bench, as law officers of the Crown, oddly enough
the immediate downfall of Mr. Gladstone's Government. How it
about, or in what order of precedence the preference *a> deelwi
I i.iriniii say. Bui it is known that both Sir Henry James
William Harcourt have discovered in the Home Office the tree
lor their genius. The weaker man has gone to the wall, and
Milium Harcourt will be Home Secretary in the next
Government. This. I may mention, is, as far as Sir William's
programme M concerned, merely a temporary arrangement

aad fi

Her Majesty's Next Ministers.

56i

an
u

smith, with the prescience of genius, outlined the character of
the hon. gentleman who represents Oxford Jack I.ofty, in The
Gcxi-natured A/an, chatting with Mrs. Croaker and repelling her
compliments, says 1 " Oh, if you talk of modesty, madam, there I
own I'm accessible to praise. Modesty is my foible ; it was so the
Duke of Brentford used to say of me. ' I love Jack Lofty," lie used
to say ; 'no man has a fairer knowledge of things ; quite a man of
information, and when he speaks upon his legs, by the Lord ! he's
prodigious. He scouts them. All men have their faults ; too much
modesty is his," says his Once." Hut in spite of this supcrabund-
cc of modesty, Sir William Harcourt is not without ambition— an
ambition bounded only by the Woolsack. In his mind's eye he
already sees a tall figure, with the added statelincss of wig and gown,
ed on the Woolsack, presiding over a |>erturbed peerage.
As for Sir Henry James, he no longer openly fights against the
ndusion. long ago arrived at on the neighbouring benches, that as
tesman, or even as a politician, he is a lamentable failure. His
subordinate, Sir William Harcourt, has distanced him by
in the Parliamentary race. He has therefore abandoned
n of dealing with politics on the broader basis permissible
to others than the law officers of the Crown, and will continue to
AttorneyGener:d. This is not a prospect inspiring for the Liberal
, or encouraging for a Ministry so handicapped. Hut there is
consolation in the thought that the pettiness and general
thinness " of Sir Henry Jomc • M Attorney-General will be balanced
the acquisition as Solicitor -General of Mr. Herschcll, who is not
y a sound lawyer, but has in him the stuff of which eminent
itesmen are made.

There remains only one post, which has been left to the last for
simple reason that it appears most difficult to deal with. If it
possible that Mr. Goschcn might take office with a Government
to the assimilation of the borough and county franchise, it
not be difficult to assign the portfolio of the Minister of War.
t being admitted, both in theory and practice, that a civilian, and
a City man, may Ik- appointed to preside over the lighting de-
ems, whether of land or sea, there would be nothing incongruous
selection of Mr. ( iosehen to succeed Colonel Stanley, who him-
f succeeded one previously known as a model country gentle-
and an excellent Home Secretary. Faule de micux, there is
. Grant Duff, whose name I mention in this connection with some
ence.
ccxiv. no. 1787. o o

562 The Gentleman s Magazine.

Let us take a bird's-eye view of the Ministry sketched. 1 will

add an asterisk to the names of those in the Cabinet : —

*L*nl Chancellor

. Lord Selbome.

'President of the Cow;

. Lord Cardwell.

*Pri;y Seal

. Duke of Argyll.

* Foreign Secretary

Lord Harrington.

• Home Office

. Sir W. Harcourt.

•Colonial Office .

. Lord KJml>erl

•India

. Mr. Bkwcett

•War

(?( Mr. Grant 1

• Chancellor of the Exchequer . Mr. Gladst

•First Lord of the Admiralty . Mr. O

* Postmaster General . . . Sir C. Dilfcc.

• Duchy of ' IjtnCiister . . . Mr. Bri

• Hoard of ' T< i . . . Mr. 1

Chief Commissioner of Works . Mr. Adam.

President of fjifal Got'eri

Beard .... Mr. Chamberlain.

Vict-Presiacnt of Con

. Mr. Lyon Playfair.

Attorney -General

. Sir H. James.

Solicitor- Genera/

. Mr. Hcrschcll.

' Irish Secretary .

I.ord K. Fit*maurice.

This list obviously leaves out the Under-Secreturyships, and taker

no note of several rising young men destined to fill dK;

THE MEMIIF.K FOR HII .mill: KUS.

563

RECENT FRENCH POETS.

(WITH POBMB TRANSUkTU> HV AKTHVR O'SHAVOIINKSSV.)

Part II.

Andrt Lemoyiit.'1

GRACEFUL and correct, without lofty visions, but with very
clear perception, using imagery ao urate rather than brilliant,
and agreeable though not prolonged harmonies. Andre I.cmoync may
be called Magma f\«ta minor. He has genius in miniature, and his
tiny " quadras," as Andre* Chcnier would call them, charm by attrac-
tiveness of subject and perfection in detail. Although now and again
attempting a higher aim and wider range, he quickly returns to the
pretty " talilfautin- ■" v. bich suit him hot. This graceful idyl will
serve well as an example : —

MARGUERITE.
The Rives.
What dream ymi. Bl . rr,

Without being hardy may t ipiets?
\'.,u 0 ohwi

Ami Ibid yow tuoicb in nil,.,,.

Mai.
Mr dream Is of a land you know.

Tin: Kivr*.
■ laml up-stream where willow* bend
And gue iiiln try .icjiilr- lielow.
Letting their long pale h«ir descend
And irnl along Ihc waTc?

Mahouibite.

My dream wcol ecaroc at far.

The Kivkx.

Ah, tin ii
The pond, maybe, where rush anil rocd

«1 thickly crowded nn.1 ImparJc
MyUrcan .id?

1 Has puUhhed BMOMSinly, Cktmint f/rdui (<r<sronn/ pat FACNal
Frai*v«i»e), lit Charmmui, Lei Stin J At. «M tatMA to

roiumc, rcritei aod augmented.

5^4

The Gentleman* s Magazine.

\t.vi:,:rrmri..

», again.
Tlir apol ■•. jusi a league beyond
The field of rose

The Kiver.

Where I (MM
The mill to turn ? A maiden blonde.
With eye* thai rn> laxrloireT,

Greet* there Math m

MARC.l'tRlTE.

Sauce there -yet raase ;

Foi knowtl thou nnl, a hide Inner,

An ielaad when with opejtiog jnn»

i iiy .iii-iii. ■ ii.in. i, in ; hne ■

Tin. Rn in

Yea. fur I Live i!. . .<• quu I r.imi
Win.. |iui|ili- c I..'., i |m m 'ml |
Such fragrance all .1 . w*ry nay.

TUtto

MARGUERITE.
Till. RlYKL

I . .-.I l.i.i v'1' "lay.
Twtl fa M "I MiiI-.iiiiiiiii ■ Ihl gay
Ami happy llOMl in white;

1 1» 11 .ilni-liucUliil xIiims shone bright.

Joining their hands in one great round.
They danced about the fioweT-*«rcwn ground.

And while they danced, young maiili and im ".

I In ighi n

One only mid the comely boy*

I oak ""I In-- oar; .1 .ill their joyi .
Ami, deal M lugfiiixi and 10 voeig,
Mn i-il at a dlHanrr fan thi ihl

He was n lall dark mower, made hron
lly summer suns and u -ind« ; a crown
Hi-. bright halt ttflaMd like any I.
|jay Bod with -unset'* crtmuNi «irig»:
The girls |>as*c<i '.n their homeward way ;
He mused : one had m.t come that day.

■LutQofttn 1

li *hr In- thOBghl ot dark or fail?

Tnr. Kivm.
Look in my stream and m hei 1 ..

RecaU French Poets.

565

VI.
Villurs de V Isle- Adam}

Aktkk a volume of poems which moat be described as incorrect,
disorderly, and fantastic, although instiru t with noble ambition and
showing a source of abundant inspiration, Villiers de l'lsle-Adam
seems to have relinquished verse. The drama, which lie treats with
boldness and novelty; the roman, used as a means of materialising
philosophical theories; the "talc," to which no one since Edgar Poc
has brought such profound intensity of terror and irony, absorb entirely

extraordinary talent, which, by the very inlcrmittence "I it» lofty
flights and sudden descents, closely resembles genius at times.

VII.

A r wand Syktstre?

Akmamd Svlvestre's first book appeared with a preface by
George Sand, who said, " Here arc very fine verses ; stay a moment,
wayfarer, and gather some of these brilliant fruits which, though
sometimes strange, are always full of savour and perfume." She
adds, " It is the antique hymn in the mouth of a modern — i.e. the
intoxications of materialism in a spiritualist, who is so in spite of
himself; for while straining to his breast the physical beauty whii li
he idolises, the poet weeps and complains. He even reproaches it
»ith killing him. What is his accusation ? That it is without soul.
A curious proceeding this, which continues, but without degrading it,
'be theory hidden under the pretended scepticism of Byron, De
•Musset, and all our great romanticists. It is, indeed, the fatality of
the modern man. In vain docs he invoke or proclaim Venus
Aphrodite. That |K>ctic dream which ardently embraces the realm
Offlesh i 1 : 1 ■ . not really penetrated tiu: life OftllC nun who live-, in the
l*>et. Plato and Christianity have planted twenty centuries of
s|)intii;ilism in his soul, which he cannot get rid of, and, after ex-
hausting all forms of description to present the world's beauteous

' Bom in 184O. Prtmiirii JWsirs (i860); /sis, roman; Morgans, drame;
*■**, drame ; It A'Aallr, i:om>dic (performed at the Vaudeville) ; Vrra, Lti
Pmuiltttn dt HuitftlAirr, Clair/ Isnoir, Vir^inU ft Paid, /.' ' /nleriignt, &C,
*miilu ; Atrail, pocmc en prone, /v rVtmnmu MonJr (drame) gained ihc fir*t
»*oe ia the Michielii competition; j m-w aae—Mttf — it in preparation.

' Hjj pu luccmion Kimti nnrvrirt -.uillei (i860), /.«■< A-n.iiiian.ti

I1S70), /.* Cteww da Hmrti (1S74 1&78); Aitgt /'.•>.i«r, ■ comedy ta
<aOibnr-iii>n »ith Fjiulr Bergerat, and .l/in.; -> drama in venc, both produced
»l tic Vaudeville. Armani! ^Sylvc*lre i» a popular contributor to many reviews
ltd literary journal*.

566

T/te Gentleman's Magazine.

queen and all ■ olours of passion to paint unsatisfied desire,
down extenuated with this cry to his terrestrial ideal: 'Yoncn
love ! ' * This was justly and admirably unbridled pa

for physical beauty, mingled with rancours and anguish, and relieved
by aspirations (perhaps involuntary) towards toother ideal— such ii
almost in its entirety the work of Armand Sylvcstrc. But if woi.i
beauty fails to assuage the ideal thirst which devours Am
Sylvestre, external nature calms him scarcely better ; vain are his
ecstasies over the nights and the dawns, vain his wish that beauty
might be inanimate ; n i himself, what he is doomed to seek

through .ill creation is ■•■ i of things or of one

supreme being. He sings of the gTcat oaks : —

C'c- rbees fratcrncls,

1'tflO

dint leur ! I tc?rc xf\

A lruri rlmntS mmciux ilcs iipccW ttcrtich [

I taodla qu'»frronch» jui lc» nu-Umo«jihi»cs,
; intent enfin lew moulc passagcr,
•:! tcmblc a jamiii « 6get
Dan i chowsl

In the bushes there seems to him to live again

L'n peu dc cc qui fni

Speaking of the springs, he says —

rfeiSj au tortir dct fculllta,
L'icil clair des source* ta'i trouble;

and he adds —

L'cau regardc, ct I'ourore t\
i lant ot regard lent ct dacret

•-*nl secret
l''i" imcrvcille.

He sees a terrible meaning also in the fixed gaie of the Stars : the
admirable poem " I.es Astrc«" exemplifies again the ; , of

this would-be materialist to seek for a spiritual essence in all things,
and gives also the measure of his talent, the principal qualities of
which arc elevation of thought, grandeur of imagery, ..pic

and profound verse-music. One is, however, sensible of a « ertain
vagueness, as of a cloud which, though shot through with light,
nevertheless a veil behind which the idea is scarcely seen with suftV

•netness. We should like to think that this fault-
one— arises from a feeling of con.vti rcminat
whereof I
it must be confessed that a little of such hocincM creeps into mom

Recent French Poets.

567

of his "odclcttcs d'amour" and " odes patriotiques," where nothing
can explain its presence save the temperament of the author. This
is the more to be regretted as throughout the work of Armand
Sylvestre the truly beautiful dopes, half concealed in the luminous
mists of his verse, when clearly discerned by the reader, will amply
reward his attentive efforts.

VIII.
Valade. '

IsriNiTK sweetness dread of all excess, and a tenderness which
scarcely dares utter the secret of love combine to weaken the talent
of Leon Valade. He reminds one of a sensitive plant that would
prefer to be a violet. He has called himself a " buveur de kit," and
the loves he sings arc those of discreet, unimpassioned hearts, dreams
rather, which shape themselves timidly fora moment and then vanish.
For him the violent heats of midday and the mysteries of dulness
have no temptation, but he loves the early morning which is not yet
day and the gloaming which is not yet night. He is the poet of
half-tones, and not without reason is one of his collections entided
" A Mi-Cote." Kvcn when for a moment he quits his tender dreams
or reminiscences, Leon Valade retains a languor which tinges his
very smile with hesitation and incompleteness ; in his sunniest mood
he is like the butterfly, whoso wings have a tremor of uncertainty all
through their short and fitful rest. If he attempts to depict things
a he has seen them, he carefully avoids all the stronger lights and
shadows. "Au Lever "may be indicated as a pleasing example
of his work, but it is a pastel so delicate that we scarcely dare to
for fear our breath might damage its colours.

IX.

Paul VerLtint*

Readers of horoscopes say that people who arc born under the sign
of Saturn are wont to indulge in lugubrious thoughts, and are morose,
bitter, and irritable ; they seldom laugh, and prefer to pass their life
in humid places, and especially on the shores of dismal lakes. Paul
Verlaine's earliest verses were entitled " Poemes saturniens," and they
were appropriately named. A dark yet restless humour, singularly

* Bom in 1841. Has published Ami, Mai, Jnin (1863) ; Intermezzi, III eol
Liberation with Albert Mcrat ; A Mi-Ctlt (1S74), and some others.

1 His published IWntts saturni'tits. Fltis galanttl. La Vaincus, Us Amies,
La Amir; Chansan.

568

The Gentleman's Magazine.

drawn towards fear and death, was shown in these short poems, the
artistic treatment of which is deliberate and very subtle ; and though
the influence of Baudelaire was very apparent, it was impossible not
to discern a tinge of perversity that belonged to the author's own
personality. I-atcr work has marked a healthier intellectual stage,
and in •' !.« Fetes galantcs," for n Paul Yctlaine sometime*

finds .1 grace which h quite hat look almost

lini

. to. i lady —

\ 001 I BOiCS and (air.

icrade,

Wlici. hi Ibe (bile, though cay the garb ihey wear,
l.ook ■ the long parade.

All alngtag in ill.- ml

Ami life ilu- mlling da*C of liivr (he itiong.
They teem ai though they doubled o( their Miun.
And dreamy moonlight mingtei with their long :

The dreamy moonlight of a W«l mi;.

That tilencct the birds, and where one «ee*
TIk - ..i.l .i n i; i.nrn.iins all like figure-, fainting,

I '! I the slatuo and the tree».

He writes the following on a sculptured latin in the park : —

Le Fa cm .
Vn vicnx (nunc de terre cuitc
Ril au centre dci boulingr..
Fresagcanl saaii doute unc
M.iuvaivr a ce» instants wrvim

Qui m'ont conduit et t'ool cond'
Mclancoliijue-i pelcrina,
JuKju'i cettc heure dont la fuite
BOM au »on dei tambounn

Still, in .jiitc of enchanted moonlight and pleasing landscapes
wherein wander, before embarking for Cythera, the Athvs and
• .Id rancours tlo n-'t abandon tin. pa i Bern
icing look comely youths j i
skin and the gold of their bait

the mysterious ill u; a rctmutv

beat iiorror, and tl licet

moves with something of the con

• "h-i-il jHwakble <k rear i"
.Jleffrtejifran,

Recent French Poets.

569

Ernat ,f Ihr-.illy}

Comuininc English humour with Japanese quaintness, this author
is nevertheless Parisian in the strictest sense of the word. He
carries esprit to a point almost of excess, epigrammatic irony
being certainly not among the highest qualifications of a poet ; and,
clever artisan though he is, Ernest d'Hcrvilly has more than once
sacrificed the roundness of a rhythm to the temptation of making
a point, while an affectation of flegmt britaiinujue too often mars
the ingenuousness of lyrical impulse. Withal he has such grate
and power of winning a smile that criticism is easily disarmed. In
his principal collection, " Le Harem." Ernest d'Hcrvilly invokes the
»ir women of all countries, and each appears in turn with the
exotic attributes of race, climate, and surroundings. Nothing more
varied in method and colouring than this love-voyage can well be
imagine!. I" Holland the poefj idea] is named Ktttjm.

The frieze cloth of her bodice white

Si irv as her hem's pulse comes and (joes ;

On windy morns you catch a sight

Of stockings green and little shoes.

Dark days in winter early and late
She skims across the fror.cn creek.
Basket on arm ; her tiny skate
Cutting ll»- ice leaves .1 nice a streak.

All Saturday she takes to rub
Copper and stove ; then, ere 10 bed.
Each kitchen tile she'll scour and scrub
Till raw beefsteaks are not so red.

"0* we arc transported to Africa on the banks of the Taubert: —

My D 1 or and coot a great deal !

Real rings of iron drag down her cars.
Her leeili arc line yellow, her lips like the peel

Of the luscious fruit the jujube bears ;

Her breasts black and -.billing, are like the two parts
1 H I big bright bullcl riven in 1 wain ;

I -..111 bulb -i<l<- 11I Iim Mii^o —and this in what larli
My I"; b ":: ttVOTOd linkl Of I chain ;

' Has publishrd Let Baiurs, J/an Ajfagard, I.t llartm. jfaMrndhuMtfi

"«i mher collections of scire. For the stage : Ij Maliuie ltd, a propos en vers ;
it Bmkvmmr Mitlr.; Icgcndc en trois tableau*:; Ijt Mlt Sainant, romnlic
jfouMC, *c. Abo • v. ' I volumes of Parisian ttOfWd which have had great

57o

The Genileman's Magazine.

H.-i hair, !■• h k wool ;

Ilir eye .' DC xt in white

That glenrus lustrous, translucent is china, an.

Anil placid their look is by day and by night.

lei ■ '-'f berries adorn c*ch limb ;
What queen in g i appears ?

I slew many hundreds of parr
The ■ v, -.y In- wears.

I'wi-. I htt ;ravc chief.

And made her a parasol with the leaf
Of spreading palm and rirer rash.

Now wc bun u la GroSolandaiae ": —

■ >i 1 of 1 • -hi .-, Iici (kin i mod J

Her thick lips like tiro half-led cherries glow ;
A skilful Oii£i: .» tattooed

i r dem—th i1""-. fMi brew* gksttii

Of »ofiIy tl.lnlM.

a reindeer tendon biatli her wi II bale

All in one chignon bright.

in Louisiana —

Mis* Tilda Jefferson, Indolent as I
Creoles are ever to-
rn herself wholly to hef rocking-chair,
1 • way her to and fro.

Look at her in her muslin morning gown :

•lood it pure and pale ;
How fair her ikin aj. •" I

r» at the cane chair rock*.

Sweet one wi'.li foreign name,
What do you dream of, settling in those k*
Thai rose ? Of whence it came ?

Esphrasic, in striped kerchief, yellow and Uar,

LookiP'
And grins rcd-raoulliod, at lialf-eatie nurn ■ .

Smoking bet cigarette.

":—

Vlnj

H mmy a I
.rd,

ke jonrpjlt pale,
Sweet tklclong looks; Rsvth (apcring nail
It iVmV **A y*»xi a

\ iwtrc. » *r*&.

Recent French Poets.

571

Other women follow — the ancient Druidcss, chaste and haughty in
her brazen armour, who treads solemnly. " les yeux dans l'Inconnu " ;
the Japanese, for ever composing new rhymes about the rose ; the
Biblical Jewess; the maiden of Memphis, with the " Osirian " eyes ; the
melancholy English " miss," who, under the Christmas holly, thinks

Qu'il scrait gai d'entendrc ua rirc ilc baby ;
the Atlienian wife, " singing soft sorrows as she cards her wool " ; the
Venetian. courtesan in her gondola ; and last, though not least, she
whom Ernest d'Hcrvilly — since a poet cannot be too gallant in deal-
ing with his reader — calls la Triomffiante, and whom wc venture to
rcchristcn la Parisiemc: —

Thou art the queen, Parisicnnc. In thee lies
The world'* unquestioned oracle of dress ;
Speak, and Eton pole to pole, a phcenix, flics
Tliy Maw, UX Pythoness !

Mere costly bibelot for an clagere ;
Stress valueless but as a diamond Ml j
.", (,.,'in::.\ ravishing falsehood make* thee fair:
< ,.' 1 1 1 - 1 - 1 1 .lull, iliuu rul'st us yd.

Unmoved, triumphant, with .1 lurking smile
Of sense occult and most mysterious.
Thou passest by, setting on fire the while
People most serious.

Perfume, the bird, Youth, Spring, sweet melodic-.,
The sap, lliu machine, love— disguised each Wean
Thy womanhood -. these are thy mysteries
And these thy twenty yean.

XI.

Sully- Prudhomme. '

Here again is one of our best known and at the same time of our

st loved minstrels. Little noticed at first, since he never appealed

ith noisy utterance or glare of colour, his poetry little by little

iied its way to men's hearts, and once there has never lost its

place in them. Allied for the most part with youthful dreamings

id the reminiscences of maturity, it has precious sympathies with

the languors that grow out of deferred hopes and vain ideals.

Indeed, Sully- Prudhomme is par txuttence the poet of those vague

rlcvations of feeling which subsist in the heart of the modem man in

: of all disillusionising realities of external life. He understands

■ Has published Stances et Fohnes (1865-1866), Lti £fmnts, Les Sotitudet,
Vastus Ttndrtsies, l.a Khiolte des Fltitn, I.es Dtitiru, La Justice (1878).

572 Tlu Gentleman s Magazine.

TvrreAnT tn

and gives voice to the mysterious craving to love in the present, to
know in the unknown, the bitterness of hours lost in fruitless striving,
and also that backward yearning after things of the past which is an
unconscious self-deception of the mind eager to found probabilities
of future happiness on a belief in its existence in the past Lfattfl
to some of these accents : —

|! i i/n.iinn)— hittm.

In loo much seeking love I found but gr«-f ;

I have but multiplied the means of pain:
A thousand tic* loo poignant or too Iwief

Bind DM 10 tMD(9l IBM lovj mil tack again.

All Ihlogl with •i|ii:,l pow« my heart have woo—

Trulh by it . light, the I Bknowtl liy ill veil
A tenuous gold iluc-.nl bind* mc le UM -<•••.

And to each Mar a silken thread go

The cadence chain-, me to Ihe melody.

Its vi ill • to the rOM I li'uch ;

One nib won robbed rnyoTool liinity.

And fi>r 1 1 1 y iinmlh ill,- tint 1(1*1 did .*, mm Ii

My life now hongs; upon these fragile thrcj :

Captive of all fair thing* I feel or sec ;
Each breath that change or trouble o'er them ilioh

Kcnd* from my heart itself a part of me.

|Lto VKtx)-7>f A>/.
Innumerable eyes, beloved and £xir.
Some black, some blue, were wont lo welcome day ;
Closed now, Ihcy slumlier in the graves down (bere,
And the sun rises as it did alway.

N|ghl knwBe tban day Bkd with del

Hitler eye* and l.l.nl innumerable of fort :

Now the HI stars look nul fntn the wmc night.

But darkness fills those eye* few evermore.

I In r.. have they h»t their look, their seeing t Nay,

1 will mil Ihink it ever lhu» could be :
Those eyes are only turned another way.
And now ihcy li«ik 00 iliing* wc may nut see.

Km as it is with stars when day grows new
They wane away from us, but keep the skies —
So with the eye ; it has its waning too ;
It sets, but I will never Ihink ii die*.

IflniwiQMbJe and bit, .mi loved ■!« ■

The black, the blue : you diMtxl them into giocM ]
But nun those eyes are open, and they gaic
On the great dawn the other side the tomb.

Recent Frmch Poets.

573

! 'Ombre— Tit SAw/n*.
We walk : our shadow follows in the rear.

Munk-. i .nr lionf, treads where'er we tread.

Looks without «. R r»i,

haul.
Like ii> In. «h:ul<i. .-h down here,

A little living darkness, a frail (hied
Of form, sees, speaks, liut wilh no knowledge clear,

Saying to Kale. " By thee my feet nn
Man ahttloaN bat a lower angel win.,
Fallen

So man hlmtell Ol tiotli

And, iii;i' M place hy U iii>!i'"l.

Near deepest depth-, of imihingncti or ill,
Some wraith of human wraiths grows darker still.

May it not be said th.it Sully-Prudhommc has succeeded in ex-
pressing the most furtive and impalpable imaginings by means as
tt as the dreams themselves ? and that he has perhaps come
nearer than any nun to clothing the intangible with tealities of
substance and form ? It would be easy to multiply examples ffolB
his works, showing through all variations of subject the same churn-
ing mysticism. However, with the lapse of years there CUM t"
Sully- Prudhotniiu, as MB to Lcfon Dierx, the necessity 10 reduce
dreaming to tome kind of method, to interrogate the unknown with
greater firmness, or. utd, to substitute thought lor dreams.

I I . detire RH tbil tnntToniMttion, or rather extension, is apparent,
perhaps, in the piece entitled " l.'lm. .." addressed to the

poet's "intime Galatce," the Owning ol hit own brain, which

begins—

J'mi.ii;inc ; ainsi jc puis fairc
Un ange sous mon front mortcl.
El qui |>eut dire en quoi dilftrc
1,'etre imagine <lu reel t

Thenceforward Sully-rritdliomme aimed at creating real Calateas,
and it was in such a spirit that his firmest work, " l^es Epreuves," mej
conceived. The poet remains doubtless the sun in person, but
with the difference between adolescence and viiility. ] ilull cite
three very fine sonnets.

PtOFAMATlON,

Iteauty, thai o

'.'. hat gods have <pumcd thee, line t to . I

Leading thyself to harlots and thy glow
To deck dead hearts thai cannot live again ?
Made (or lb rig, diitM thou in vain

St* l nd purity, round s\k\\ Vo vVsom

Thy glorious gu»b aright? and i-

574

The Gentleman's Magazine.

I In. M lohesi sin and hidcsl falsehood's Main?
Fly back to heaven , profane no more thy worth,
Nor drag down love and genius to bos* kneeling
At feet of courtezans when thee they seek,
fjuil the white flock of women ; and henceforth
Pom shall be moulded upon truth, revealing
The soul, and truth upon tlic brow shall speak.

(La Litte)— Tlu Struggle.

Nightly tormented by returning doubt,

I dare the Sphinx with faith and unbelief;

And through lone hours when no sleep brings r.
The monster ri-..:-. all my hopes to ll""!
In a still agony, the li^lii Mfrwtl out,

I v. K .Hi- irith !i» t nknown : nor long nrxr brief

Tlic night appears, my narrow couch of f tie/
' : urn lUce the grave with Death walled round about.
Sometimes my mother, coming with her lamp.
Seeing my brow . teat damp,

Asks, "Ah, what ails thee, child? hast thota no rest?"
And then 1 answer, touch e»l by her look of yearning,
Holding my beating heart and forehead burning.

" Mother, I strove with God, and was hard pees*."

(Le Rendezvous)— The Aj-f^iUment.

'Tis late ; the astronomer in his lonely height,

Exploring all the dark, descries afar

Orbs thai lilea distant iafa of splendour are.
And nomine? irhlteaing in thetafinils
l.il.i- vlnnowcd grain the. worlds jo by ia fli;

Or stvarm in glistening spaces nebular ;

He summons one dishevelled wandering star :
•' Return ten centuries hence on such a night.1'
The -ilar will tome. It dare not by one hour

Chi it ll;

Men will have paitccl, but watchful in the I

Man shall icmain m :..'
And should all men have perished there m turn.
Truth in their place would watch that ttar'a return.

" Lcs fiprcuves" given to the world, Sully- Prudhommc might

well have stayed development at the point which he had then

attained ; but with an artist's natural restlessness he xtill desired to

progress — to rise to yet greater heights. Has he succeeded?

et that I am unable to think he hi

Having dreamed in " lx% Stances ct Poemcs," having thought «

| Ixs BpTeuves," he was seized with an ambition, fostered doubtless

tnnslating of the "De Rcrum Natuia" of I^rjctius,to

tbodily with the problems of modem science and modern Ciith,

Retmt Frettck Pods.

575

He wrote, " There is, I think, nothing in the whole domain of thought,
nothing so high or so profound, but the poet has a mission therein to
find an interest for the heart." This is, of course, true. No one
will reckon me among those who require that a poem should be
"accessible to minds of moderate culture." But the proposition
depends for truth upon the condition tli.u poetry, never forgetting the
one true aim — viz. itself — avoids the technicalities of instruction and
discussion, the didactic method long since justly abolished, and
never approaches any subject which demands abrogation of that
which is the essence and charm of poetry, the materialisation of
the idea by the image or symbol. What has scientific truth to do
with poetic imagery? In relation to certain subjects does not
imager)' become a futile and superfluous ornament, which the logical
mind would soon get rid of? and if so, what becomes of verse? It
Del into ■ mnernotechnical process. I am far from saying that
in the later works of Sully-I'nidhonime poetry has reached this
point; there is abundant poetic.nl beauty in "Les Destins," "La
Justice." but in those pages only whence science is banished and
where pure thought and dream resume their proper sway. In the
• which I have just quoted from I read further, " If I have too
greatly presumed upon my powers, J shall return with a good grace to
compositions which are in themselves less difficult, without, however,
feeling any regret at the present venture, since the utility of trying
all the capabilities and limitations of an art will not be denied." For
my own part, I can only hope that Sully-l'rudhomme has by this
time recognised the perfect inutility of his attempt, which failed not
from any insufficiency in the author, but of necessity, and that he will
restore to us the poet in whose company we loved, suffered, hoped,
smiled, and wept. Was it not enough to have all the heart and all
the soul wherewith to sing, or is there anything higher than love or
:cr than grief?

XII.

I tony Cazalis.x

ABDICATE writer, elevating dilettantism into an, such is M. Henri
ilia. His verses arc album verses, but albums so graced should
books. Sincere words of sadness alternate with noble elans
beauty and love ; ihere are also graceful pictures worthy of

Ills pnbliJicd, Mitiug ..ilic-i kiiiiwiiwi-rlm, !.'. ■ Ha (1868), /.<■ lien du

, aad ■ collection (A li-Uiu from H'-iin Ktgnnull, wIiok: passionate admirer
[ friend be Wfti.

576

The Gentleman's Magasine.

a true painter, and dolorous musings worthy of an II philo-

sopher. I have always greatly reliihcd the two folli>wing :—

(E.N PASSANT PAR IS CHAW

/* fuiumj tin'Hgi a Fair.

I saw an eagle with closed eyw.

A captive in hi- own
Hi« high cage Qptn 14 llM «Vics

•■. it ti "') room (•" play of piiuocs.

Hcncith him t»o right happy doves

Ceased not to murium. !• H
And never wearied of the love*

I ;.. | -i found *o new.

The lung-turd held his haughty air,

Hut now and ihcn just half relented
To look with pity 00

Whom mk-Ii All .nlenloL

(TutTHU DU I HO

Tlic stoat wag w.i Cm iUb! ibr el ti"

I'hal -.t ■ • •:■!; '■ > ;ht was growing,

And o'er the plain p lly from the rock

And smiled to feel the iun at midday glow il

Thc»»k n ■ ■■ uV i-JMle

That grored and wandered through the field at leisure.

The «tigx th.it clashed their sutler* free in b)
< ii lirowvcd at peace or lioundcd (nil i

The brnte wa* «•! for dunking of the wings

To mount on liif;li ihM to the Kid m given.
And how ill' 09 hit

And iiiiiii n.is a,! lhiul.il';: '.I I.ikI hi Ii.

XIII.

A Hurt Glatignj.1

I HAVI already related the early wanderings of the roan; i:
mains, therefore, to speak of llie poet,

is the lyrii
might ny that he lacks originality fo

i*5odore dc . he

too

1 !■„'. ii-' , i|), I

tkw
■UrJ

mnti

Protc : Lt Jntr d. PAn iTun I'ajnfciW.

richness, wltat brilliancy, vrliat superb ring in those strophes in which
Cypris, just born, admires the fr<. m rose, and the wings of

Eros quiver with passionate heart-beats ! The nymph may be of
Diana's train, and yet her Burnt. >s is all her own. There are, more-
over, in the lyrical work of Glatigny themes which belong to him
exclusively. He was a false pagan, but a true Parisian. Here and
there in different journals he published pieces chHtti&g in their irony
against the bourgeois, whom ho frttttided to detest (the kindly soul
never really hated anyone. ) Ik-re is one 01 litest railleries.

" Mais cst-cllc traduisible ? '

■Utau '-'n

K-lli.- x ilix -hint Ul It pu ilc pOJb

S» robe c»l tra-closc ■-: DMWU •'" mciiton ;

Kicn fi'cn a goal

EJIe est droitc jiiim aufUl icve un baton.

Son epaule maigrc ft dc* eoatbai I

: -.km reqpuU da ■■<"■■'

■ I'm. in .Liu, k-ur* alveole*,
Semblcm nctc! .... " au chceur d« baiters.

Sa ycux sow , . cl Oct «ourcil« rare*

i .irni Ui.iriiii-ii: un 1 1 • -itt liM ct plat,
(,'u'opprimcnt encor des bandeaux bizarrcs
l)e pelits cheveux cbntains sans eclat.

BtUn I urea

I)c cette augclique enfant I f> ircnor,
(jui fail da -.iron* ct des confitures
Telia '|ue jamais on n'en fit encor 1

t,"» a

la fait ah

l'.t ilc vi figure IMN et liiaitc

Kien n'a deride 1'aspcct soucicux.

Itan* cc i sec.

Ou» cc losg pii'fd -iux rcflcU ili i
Fait pour maintcnir 1* Amour en fdbec.

< 4iit sc cha ni '

Mais on chanter* son

1 ' n baby rose lui dira : " Mamon I "

Qnldonc rempliri cc.lcvoir au.i.

Ne cbcrchons pas loin. Dleu. dans sa Iwote,

A ere* pourcllcun jeune notaire,

Homme titita

1 I hare thought it sa£cr to leave this (\ucs\wyn wwivftcrcA. — rV. CPS.

rot cexLV, mx ryfjr. p v

578 The Gentleman s Magazine.

Etloujdeuxl csJeuntsfilU*

Aux regard* unt rlarrrme, anx couda poinlu*,
Pour iju'nn voic cnoorc au »ein oVi famill**
rosier de* maigre* vertus.

Beneath the Parisian, however, there existed a Norman nature,
and we will now see with what unctuous colours he eonUI depict the
rich humid pastures and the stabled farms full of lowing kine : —

I :i. (M belle vraiment la Normandc robuste
Atcc un large col implante grassement,
Atcc aes *eins, orgneil ei gloirc dc »on buMc,
Que fait mouvoir sans ccsae un lourd balanccmcnt !

I hlle nux epaulet solidcs.
Belle commc la Force areuglc et sans efttM !

II f.iu; pom 1'a.lorer longtemps de* cceon valides
A l'cprcuve du chnud, de la pluic et du

Le* phthl iciua i m

Keculeraient decant oe corps mile et pttitunt,
Dont le* mains, aux travanx dc 1* terrc occapecs,
Montrent, au lieu de* tjrx, l'ipre rougear da tang.

Au detour d'un tentier alort (ju'elle dc'bouchc
Alnsi qti'une genissc errant en libcrtc.
On croit voir la Certs mdomptable et farouche
Du gra» pays normanrt, m licha de ante.

Rcgardcz-la marcher parmi lea haute* herbes.
La lillc aux mouvemcnU sauvages et nerycux,
Pendant que »ur son front les grand* c'pis de* gerbes
Poussicrtux rt M nt *c» chcreux I

C'cst auprt* de lUycux que je I'ai I
Dans un chemin courerl bordc par les pomaticrs,
Ou, ! • «t la jarabc gujlrcc,

l* nc»i V mien.

Under this vigorous sketch might we not write, At Hid pin
Alas that so many years have now elapsed since these verses %•
penned by Albeit Glati eft us. the incorrigible Bohemian,

and tin* time tot a long jouiae) :nming. i

a moment fortune had smiled on him ; he knew the consols*
tion of a love reciprocated, and the happiness of union with the
beloved one. This wild bird bfti tell a nest. But the misery

endured of old, though I'

malady— rii con: ll« germs of d been contra'

in those days of c.m

Recent French Poets,

579

rife solitary, but not to mourn him long, for she died very soon after-
wards quite suddenly. Ah, good and true comrade, fallen in the fight
without having beheld the victory, we have not forgotten you, Albert
Glatigny ! And many a time, as we read your verses, beneath the
portrait that gazes so amiably upon us it seems as though in a minute
you yourself would again burst suddenly into the room as of old,
boisterous and laughing, with " Mcs amis, les clegiaques sont des
cretins, et il n'y a que la Venus dc Milo que ait lc sens comraun."

XIV.

Catulii- Mmdh.x

Ir I inscribe this name here it is because without it the list of
the " Pamassicns " might seem incomplete ; and I shall restrict
myself to citing almost at random some short poems which may
Bee to give an idea of the author's style.

(Douceur m StWTOtra) StMiMU «f tin Past.*

I am like one upon the sea, Wno dnanU while far away
That won at home hi* thought will fly back, yearning
To «cc the waste of txura «=»-\ ■ blU birds and winter spray.

i on my . IkcI. I In I lliy ki-.se, bill
Some ki«» thou gav'st mc long ago grows sweeter f;\r than lliey.
r, 'iwcrc sweet, 'twere very sweet reluming.

Iu in. mUn .1 ilioti ? Ah, keep the l'nst, bid e'en its sorrows stay ;

The griefs of old seem joys our hearts arc learning ;
How very fair has now become the very darkest day I

' Bom at Bordeaux in 1S43. ""» published successively Philomela, a
lyrical volume (1863), Sirfnades (1S64), PaXode (1866), Soirs moroses (1S6S),
Baf/ns, poemc (1871). Conta ifiquts (1872), Lc Soldi de MiiiuU, poeme (1S75).
. .1 together in one volume : La Poc"sics de Catullt Mmdts (1876), large
ft*. Pieces— produced at the CoEaMIe PraBealte, la /'.rrr ifu Koi, comedie en
H the Theatre ilr Cliiiiy. /.-• ir.'r.-r ./'.lr::,i, ileum- ; .11 tin; Amliigu,
jto».v, dramc i at tin- I'lu-Vtri- I.jrlqur, /.<• Cafitaine Fra.au/, d'aoi. , ' 1 1 1 . < ■ ; .1 1 j 1.-
Gacicr. Has published also two volumes of tontti — Hiiiairtt <t 'Amour and /.<-j
fiG's Bmvnrmc' — and wnal moans — La Vie tt la Mori ifun Clown, l.ts Con-
ksina dr fcufk tsaltamo, and J.ts Mhts entumus, &c.

' The form of this ihoit thlrtcen-lined poem with two rhymes is the invention
^M. Caisltc Memii-.. In translating I have ventured to modify it by introducing
'ifcart line ahcrooting with a long one, which, in ray opinion, increases its lyrical
abilities in English, and is more effective in combination uiili tin- double
hiding. A- ..:nd* it >» -• ■■■■•■■uti forai in English verse than

original aimed at liriug in the French, recalling, perhaps, slightly the
'' Bararc-I " in An /./-« of Women.— A. O'S.

r v z

580 The Gentleman's Magazine.

The Present only has no crown* worth earning ;
And if I hide my heart's contempt and take it as I may,

\v.i\ 1 kin.w tini i;ift my soul is ipui
V. ill find the morrow joyless when I think 'iwxt yc

(La DtRMfeRE Ami:)- Ttu JjuI Sam/.
No god* in heaven, earth's altar* oTcrthrown,

No hope to crown short life, and no thanksgiving ;
Kin 1 .: i<i: .11 ltd bom ill tti dream*, wax living

With WBhW «ttd fear immorUl gm

Tin- htCkal only knrw the burial-place*;

The prayer had crumbled fi tin- DMxbit bands

Of sculptured ancestors, and through all land*

Death raised no prayer, life left no hallowed traces.

Did none remember, then, how once man's soul
Said, " 1 believe" ? Were legends all forg i
Where churches stood men counted gains ill gotten

And many a cross was now a shamble-pole.

Tin -u 11 gnw lick of dawning and expanding
isn't ihnlin dM Inlet with dtp on day :
— Wlifii In, ilirn- i-.iiiu- .1 in. hi from faraway,
Who add In nc, " There is one temple standing.
" In 1... 1 l.iml from whence I 1

Kclic alt tti falls but slowly ;

Ivu-1 and moss-o'crgrown, it still keeps holy
A memory of a god without a n.-r

Then I forsook the tOwU thai had no churches.
The hentti thai lawn no thrfll >f Inn or hope,
U hen even Doubt was dead and ceased In r..

Since l'tuili had »■• ifajy crowned nun's cold researches.

I joanUTCd llnihcrwaid. Days followed day*.

I pasted dead capitals on driedup rivers ;

The wind in flitting through their postals shivers.
And Solitude sits in their dismal ways.

Youth gave me strength nt first, and swift feet bore mc ;
But ere the way uas finished Youth bod sped ;
With faltering feet at length and aged head

ha world's last temple stood before DM

Painting, but eager and all comforted,
i (oachtd lb'- aim «itii ■> btow grown noti
Thru mt expiring sioul went up in g! .

A tardy incense to a god long fled.

PENTIii&ll.ClA, Qmmh *f the Amtxmi.
The warrior-hearted queen leaves her cold skies
Of Scythia.

With thotc other makls her sisters
She gains the lowlands, where, in battle pitted,
HolAiiooAtd. btaxes slay panic-stricken foes.

Recent French Poets. 581

et any other card fine wools at home,

; she ! Insatiate war-lust on a sudden

»w» her with hungry fang to overcome

I add that strongest, fniicst of the Hellenes,

to her conquests. Fierce, loose-mancd.

Her horse bounds with mad onset ;
l'enthesilcla's cry
. added to the shock of arms and wheels.

"Achilles! O Achilles I O Achilles !

kThis is thine hour ; lliy blood a crimson sic. -am
Shall reach thy father's feet ; a gruesome dretni
Scare* him already and makes him cry, ' Achilles ! '

" Thou *tt a lion slaying the flock at leisure,

• A raging wind no sapling tree withstands ;
How many slaughtered kings in countless lands.
Torn by the birds, fill now thy crimes' full measure !

»Like a young god how often hast thou revelled
With sword-strokes echoing -.till ! Women, too, yielded,
And on thy gory arms, that lately wielded
The reeking blade, fair lock* have fallen dislicvt il. 1 1.

" But tremble thou in turn ! The world's redress

Is come to-day : the sword is raised to strike thee,
E'en hers who never felt for one (DM like thee
Terror or tenderness."

So on a path whence there was no returning

The dauntless virgin madly rushed and cried,
Not knowing that ere sunset, spumed, not spurning,

'Twas she should kiss the warm dust crimsoned wide

With her ran blood, calling before she died

On the young god, her slayer, fair-haired, strong-eyed,
A look that seemed with love, not hatred, burning.

(L* CoNSKNTKMr.NT, Comic iiiui.lQtiE)— The Consent.

Ahod was a wealthy herdsman of the plain.
His wife one summer day set down her pitcher
And lay and slept beneath a tree, in Bethel,
And sleccping had a dream after this fashion :—

At first it seemed she woke from such a dream,

And Ahod said thus : " Wife, get thee up in haste.

Last year I sold lo mrn-liant* of Sagor

A hundred sheep j they owe me still one-third.

Ti» a long way and I but feeble now.

Whom can I send to Sagor in my stead ?

Few are the faithful envoy-, oiu: may irust.

Go thou ami claim ilunc thuly silver shekels."

Then spake she not of terror, or the desert.

Or thieves, bat said, " Dear lord, I am thy servant."

And when with his right hand he showed the way

She wrapped her mantle round her and departed.

Shi

582 The Gentleman's Magazine.

The road m hard, and thick with pointed Monet
That cut her feet and made ton brim he* eyetklti
But. ceasing not, she journey*! all the slay,
Nor ceasing in tl | journeyed ■■

TaVin lit .11 sound- when la,

Suddenly with fierce cry one leapt upon her.
Held tight ha mouth, tad with ihc other hind
Rent off her mantle ; then before he 1
Stabbed her, leaving the digger iti her breast.

A sudden start of horror in her dream
Woke her thereat.

ml stood before her.
I sold
Last year one hundred sheep ; one-third it 01
The way is long ; I am but feeble rxiw.
Whom may I tend to Sagor in my Mead T

I I !. It tl 1 . 1 i ; ,.

1 io then md Ira .shekels."

l'lun . 1 go."

She celled bei ( Midi I 'ying her hind

a the elder's head, Using the younger.

Then wrapping on her mantle, she departed.

Paw

The l-ord was teaching folk by the sea show ;
Hi

'part
Joy to the rlghl to the bet kca hriit.

••v.

!iall look apon i.:
And people listened humblj

No' hem that heard

1, leading by the hand
llci child, hid I 1 ih il way,

And hearkening for 1 while the twain did Mand.
;rown oUl with gleaning, and that day
i' I she carried was of straw, not wheal,
Scared full of iigha ;
llol |i

A fair mull child he wa» wl
I'll it shamed 1!. |c r*gi he st.

,.caks there tin the sJm I

< they be
Hi

•■ I with i.v.i 1
The nrophct, mother."
Sicol I each

rowdj Imt many tall folk bjui
And iKWimesi V *V* ixriao, w* «*&

Recent French Poets. 583

To look upon the Maslc-i whose kind speech
Wrought in his ear. Then, eager still, he criL-tl,
" I should behold him. mother dear, if thou

•.'.'•, iih I-I lift me i" lliim. :miii.,"

Hut bhe replied,
"Child, I am tired; I cannot lift tliec now."
Then a great sadness came upon the child

And tear, -lood in the eyes that lately smiled.

Hut Jesus, walking through the crowd, drew near
E'co to the child, ami said, " Behold, I am lim-."

XV.

Andre Theurkl?

Andrk Tiikuriet is now a constant writer of romans, and it
is not without good reason that he devotes himself to this species
of composition. His poems in the " Parnassc contemporain "
foreshadowed the future novelist by the preponderance of action in
them; and, since he was devoid of all sense of rhythm, it may be
averred that the prose was already there, in his verses. The true
and intimate knowledge of nature which then showed here and
there has since enabled him to become a good descriptive prose-

Analole France?

I can never think of Anatole France, one of the latest comers,
but one of the most considerable among our group, without fancying
I see a young Alexandrian poet of the second century, a Christian
doubtless, who is more than half Jew, above all I neoplatonist, and
further a pure theist deeply imbued with the teachings of Basilides and
Valentinus, and the Perfumet of the Orphic poems of some recent
rhetorician, in whom subtlety was pushed to mysticism and philo-
sophy to the threshold of the Kabbalah.

Indeed, his profound science of symbolism, his search after
ingenious methods, his love of the new or the old renovated — which

' Le Cirmiii du Hois (1S67). Jain-AfurK, nn ICtt H vers— his best poetical
composition, produced at the OdAon. Most of his tomans hove appeared in the
Anmt det Deux Mondes and the Temps.

• Bom at Paris in 1844. La Poemes Doris (1873); ■£" 'Voces Corin-
Ikimus, La Verne, Pla, La Prise de Voile (1S76). He has written wilhracce«
00 Racine, I' Abbe Frcvost, Xavicr de Moist re, Chateaubriand, Lucile dc Chateau,
briaad, and has contributed uncles on literature since 1877 to the Temps, where
he published also a remarkable romin.

584

The Gentlemayts Magazine.

are, alas t the same thing— the somewhat dogmatic prkien'ti of his
expression, in which the decadent harmony of Greek forms combines
with a Latin elegance of tournurts, make of Anatote France a spirit
essentially belonging to th.it period of refined speculation and arti-
ficial beauty. Nor arc these words intended to convey any blame.
There arc and there must be poets of different races: some are frank,
robust, vast as Nature herself; othcTs have the perverse charm of
complex civilisation ; and who shall say that these latter arc not the
necessary poets of an age like our own ?

Anatolc 1'r.ince's most considerable work is a dramatic poem in
three parts, entitled " La Noccs Corinthicnncs." The action takes
place in a road near Corinth. A little temple looking eastward
shows, on its pediment in the midst of fair mutilated figures, the
monogram of Jesus roughly carved, for we are still in tbe dap when

Apollon petit ceeor

although the Galilean God already convokes the souls of mankind
to His new mysteries. Daphne loves Hippias, to whom she has been
promised by her father, Hernias. Daphne a Christian, Hippias
believes still in the gods who

joigncnt en riant
I.a t>ellc vicrgccmuc & l'hcanme impatient ;

and Daphne replying to him says —

Au chcr jour que ma main Put prise clans U tiennc
To mis ton anncan d'or au doigl tf unc chritienne.
t'n prftn ayant chaste 1c* nymph. ■, .fun ruisseau,
Enfant rue baptisa par le «! ct par IVau,
Et je devins ainsi la sccur ct la compagtse
l)c Cclui qui roulut mourir sur la moDtagae.

Nevertheless, love being stronger than the gods, they are soon to
be united, when between them tlicrc rises the fanatic opposition of
Kallista, Daphne's mother. Stricken with disease, she offers her
child to Christ to obtain her own cure ; kneeling, she says—

[ HMH before the four times written sign
Of eagle, lnill, Hon, ml winged angel
To make thanlcoflering of a spotlcu bride
For cure of pain and all my life renewed.
O Christ I Thy bride shall be of mine own house.
•ny life, and she Then gavest Be
ne. my child— led to Thine altar stone
than man's,
have from Thee her ling anil there lay tlowe
A golden gift of all her severed Uair (
And bom of woman rone shall tmifu

H wedding Kiat>,\eM Yr4tt\V»»>^TO.'M><A TV

Recent French Poets.

585

Dafh.ne.
M other !

K.M.I IM.V

For she shall go calling on Thee,
Ami dedicate at Tliy cold altar stone
Her Tirgin's rone, ne'er loosed of BUB till then.

Daphne.
Mother !

Kallkta.

F« she shall swear with faithful lip»
None shall dm Bttl U> her of Adam's race.

lMl'IINK.

Mother I

K,m 1
'T« made, the unalterable vow.
King of the East, enthroned on God's right hand.
Refuse not, Christ, the bride I make Thine own.
Give her pure brow Thy purer veil and crown ;
So I shall <|iiil this world some later day
With bandl that did Thy works, with feel that node
Thy ways arid so before me to the Lord
An angel shall bear up my golden sheaf
Into the heavenly harvest.

Vainly docs Daphne remonstrate —

Look, mother, on this ring my fingers hold :
One son of Adam already claims me lib.
Hippias shall loose my rone ; thus I have sworn.

Kallista replies brutally —

My Oath is given. II impious, uuuhashrd,
My child breaks mine inviolable vow,
Refusing all my debt to pay to God,
Then spare. Avenger, her once sacred head.
And let the certain vengeance fall on me.
I then alone will meet the darksome troop
Of demons watching restless in mid air.
lxl it be I to lose Thy holy way,
To shrink from tasting with abhorrent mouth
Thy consecrated feast ; let it be I,
The alien, with no part in things of Thine,
Ixft out, O Jesus, from Thy counted names.
Then dire despair shall dry my tearless eyes
And bum and blanch my fevered, prayerless iikhiiIi
.■.hen 1 seek through haunted nights and days
The tombs of martyrs who may groan for me,
Let princes of the dark, black seraphim
Cast on me with the shock of dismal wings
A wind of sulphurous curses. When 1 die
Let not the sacred oil of unction touch me,
Nor |dn of bolj crow give expiation ;

586 The Gentleman's Magazine.

And cloxd be hell through black eternity

On tool and body of mine, plunged sixty times

In burning floods of bitumen and pitch. . . .

They come, behold! the angels of the abyss I

For I have sinned thi

The irrcnutuMc sin ! They hclnt me now

In clawlike hands. I I die, one damned or lost 1 .

Daphne, overwhelmed, bows to her mother's wilL

Bring, then, the ring; bring, then, the veil and crown.

0 jealous i Mida Thine own.

She remains alone and dwells sadly on the prospect of Hippias'
grief, while meantime in il. .■, u if to enhance the pain of

her trial, a hymeneal chorus ii beard

The Chorus.
Hymen, Hymen, with flaiiktof mjow I

Ileaperoa dawns afar ;
Night dwindles down to one vanishing

Come with white feet that |-

UNI,

Methinks I hear
An unseen choir and voice* in the distance,
Hastening a virgin to her new-wrought fate.

The Ciiokus, n
Come, for the failing night a found

y for vows an. I Id
Come will' h flowing irom

w*t& !

1 heir brows arc vreathed with all the tcMal Sowc
Tlic bride has vowed, and sacred is her vow.

The HO ntarrr.

Prince, gold-Mm!:.!!. i ,„, ftym

Hjmen, O Hyuicnec !
Take now the virgin we bring to thee.

Loving yet dreading thee ll

KNIt
Come not m mr ; no nearer come, O friends I
I am not decked ; and though my tow was given,
Vet on my uncrowned front no marjoram
Sheds the charmed sweetness of its fragrant breath.

Ileaoty thai nib her lias made her rife ;

ion from her v.rgino] urcatt
Uiaw Vjv*. tive. AtroaX Ut\

Retail French Poets.

587

Daphne.

1I0 they go, those song* and steps deporting?
The bridegroom's friends will come for roe no more.

to the bride chamber I should hi N bttotsjht
Perfume of love, than ambrosy more sweet.
Think'rt thou. O Hippimg, thai new spouse of 1 In n<
Shall have I" gjve ..ngcr heart

Than this I gave 1 ! nee and solitude,

left me ! Yea, and I wait
Fur nothing and fot no man now on earth.

[Sit lata lit letd ringtff Ktr fingtr.

O fountain, where in ancient days, lliey

Full many a nytni ' ile joy,

Foun K0( my tlnlilliiK

Take now gift.

0 sourctf, henceforth in rallhfol breast and cold
Keep now for eTer, from my finger torn.
This ring, worn, ah ! with what a different hope !

[Sit tails lit riltf «*/.• lit ilrf.nn.

God, whom but grief contents, be Thou well pleased.

Thus ends the first part of" Lcs Noccs corinthienncs," and I greatly
regret the impossibility of giving a detailed analysis of this poem, in
which the philosophical motive never for an instant mars the
development of passion and character, the poet all the while a
language so harmoniously measured and deliciously select that it
would be, perhaps, 1 parallel in point of style if Andre*

Chetiicr had not existed Bite \x to quote the

spirited scene wher. trlec to wort Daphne from tl

the Christians, and Daphne, yielding for a moment, exclaims —

Yea, Hippias, thou hast conquered ! 1 am thine !

1 lore thee wholly. Take me, take all I am,
And bear me hence! Fly, hiding me in thine arms.
I follow -, I will do whale 'er thou dost.
O let me, as I lie upon thy iteed

gt across the plain, lean hack my head

■ ft !l)iiin:l. 1 11c swift air,
Thy breath, Yea, now "lis I » -ill find the steed
Willi prompt and wingid feet, and harness him.
Stay nut ; let us be gone ; yea, let us fly

1 ill with waving tail*
nought of the wind*
Nor of the treacherous sea can give roc fear.

-ailors, shouting as they ply the oars,
Shall be our nuptial chorus, while Ihy .!.
Tlial cleaves the waves beneath unnumbered stars.
Shall bear me in thy shadow ax sty tcc\. . . .

588

The Gentleman's Magazine.

c.l.idly also would I give the entire passage in all its terrible force
where Kallista banishes from her threshold the youny man,
quished himself in turn. Ml) above all the dcneutmtnt of the drama,
the admirable scene in which Daphne, placed between the Milam
of death for cither her mother or her lover, chooses to immolate
herself. Hippias then bursts forth wildly —

Touch her not ! She is mine ; and I will take bet

And fly with her at length from thi» spoiled |

In her the whole of love and beauty dUi

li>> . .iih holiln now tru» earth,

A long way hence will I w.-rV. light and Hie.

I shall lay low great nalu and mountain pines.

So that for us one funeral pyre may rise.

Whence we two, trusting in the brightening flame,

Bound cadi to each in one ■

Together will take flight ; i|iiiiiiiig fur aye
The odious earth, to !«-• in ditttt
In the eternal liotom of the gods !

In speaking of the legend upon which this masterly composition

is founded, Anatolc France himself says, " J'ai rcpris a mon tour et

deVcloppe" cctte vicillc histoire, car jc n'ai rien trouvtf qui pcignit

micux le de'clin des dicux antiques et I'aobe chrtftienne dans un

coin de la Grece." He might have added, tltat no subject could have

been fitter for the exercise of the distinctive qualities of his ulcnt;

and had Anatole France written neither the " Poemes dorcs ■ in

own admirable share of " Madeleine," had he not given us" I .eucoooc."

that mysterious and voluptuous incarnation of the Christian woman

who first aspired

|)u fond des jn ■:: doneeon Inft

De Ii jainte tiistcssc et dc hm

nor so many other fine and delicate poems, " \xt N'occs corin-
thienncs" alone would have sufficed to place him in the first rank,
and to preserve his name from all shipwreck of oblivion.

I-LE MENDfcS.

5«9

BEST-DAY MEMORIES:

A SOLILOQUY.

' HAT good fellows ihcy were, too, those Bohemian friends of
: What are they doing now? And they were good,
not half of them ever said their prayers. I know lots of
never went to church. I dare wager, a few never learnt
m. Hut they were good. They are within sound of the
1 of old Temple Bar just now, I expect, though any mail, I
, will bring the news that Temple Bar, like many other fine old
I gods, is knocked off its perch. And I am jogging along the
track, all alone in the Australian bush, flicking off a leaf
out from the mob with my riding-whip, fancying it is a fly-
sd anxious to keep up the old trick of sending a fly into the
of the leaf of a water-lily. Yes, they arc stretched out in
club easy-chairs, puffing, and criticising, and exchanging
, that would considerably amaze their publishers and editors
heard them. I can sec them, and hear their voices ; 1 know
tricks and manners, as if I were a Jenny Wren to the manner
Vet the)1 were— and, let me hope, remain — good fellows. Free
easy, perhaps, but generous — to a fault ! Ay, to ten dozen
" Nobody's enemy but their own." That is the threadbare
S-ir: •'.;.•, ii all the truth were made naked, many moralists
: it would not have half so good an epitaph. Ah ! confound
, little marc I Did you never see a charred stump before, that you
like that ? Ingratc hack, do you fancy you arc a race-
that you should bolt at such a gentle touch of the spur ? So,
espy the half-way house, do you, and fancy that fifteen miles, up
I down, in a trifle over two hours, has earned you a spell, a bit of
a feed, and something of a washing ? — and you arc right.

Take charge, Mr. Blackfellow-ostler, and while you do your duty,
; me amuse myself with my notebook. After all, memory is even-
ed. It keeps us in remembrance of many things wc would fain
think of more ; but it performs similar service for others that
-.-.sant to ponder over. Out of the saddle-bag I have taken a

590 The Gentleman $ Magazine.

copy of the GtHtttman's Ma^autu, newly armed I iommg"t

mail, and while i iok her own time up the hills I have liccn

glancing through a " Red | urtkle on " Angling in Queens-

land," with an author's pardona! to sec how it comes out in

print. That was why I took to making casts at the leaves with the
riding whip. That is why, halting here for an hour on the crest of a
hill, overlooking si rub of gloaa , bright notches of young

maize, and ■ rive ^liimnuring in the valley, I am repeating the
angler's familiar sreidl da; I WOT had," etc., etc., and

etc. And n ^rics of a sportsman arc worth

preserving fresh, if any are. Let me catalogue some of mine in
this self-same notebook.

What a i! 1 wrote

for permission to spend one afternoon only upon certain prii
waters, and the noble owner, like a nobleman — bow different from
certain upstarts that I wot of !— by return ol |>ost sent me an order
for two days. It was June. The meadows and hedgerows — ay, and
the prosaic railway embankments — were (muted with floral colouring,
and at Rickmansworth I had to linger on the platform to t
another look at the foliage heavily shading the old churchyard, and
at the distant woods to the left. Ride inside the four-wheeler I
would not, and the driver was tremendously (muled to
with satisfaction to himself why I preferred a seal by nil side. It
was lucky that he was puzzled, for he kept silence thereafter, W.
I Crime bod! to garters, after dark, having fished the nver for a few
hours, I began to think I well have rtopped in I.ondon.

The fish would n: I afternoon, and there was hut a lieggarly

brace in the basket. SOU above had been mowing I

lawn and casting the contents of the m. traun at

regular Intervals. He got rid of his gnus. it this was no

gain to me, whose hooks perseveringly aught the fragments floating
by. At last the grass pest ceased. The mowing man had left his
task at six o'clock, no doubt, and the so -.rould soon come

on — time dear to anglers. But the Cattk had an innings then.
1 luring the most j a
of course — and a pretty st.n

way the firs' to hope for the

morrow.

and dewy it was at four
ining. The keeper had told of

stillish water where, during the May-fly i oft,

Mr. Francis Francis had as\otos>i«A \V« t*\\n-r^ Ns, *v\V, the.

Best-day Memories: a Soliloquy.

591

fi'hing is not good until the trout have got well over their May-fly
debauch, but I determined to work hard, nevertheless, if haply I
might experience that traditional exception by which the rule is
proven. The fish at this hour seemed to be feeding close to the
edge. The first cast got something — but what, was very uncertain.
A trout would not wobble and tug in that sullen, carthorse manner.
Lo, it was a pickereL A second time, lo, it was a pickerel. The
next fish, however, was a trout- a big and somewhat lazy customer,
who allowed mc to bring him to the top ol the water, and to wait
(with him well in hand, however) to see what his next movement
would be. As he appeared to be reticent about troubling mc with
an orthodox tussle, I gave him no further grace, but winched him in
and netted him out. His colours faded at once, and the dirty grey
moldings whic li broke out upon his sides proclaimed him an invalid.
One other big fellow — they were both twoand-a- half-pounders
went to I m company, and then, the sun being BOH big!! in

heaven, I returned to brr.il

About three o\ Jo< k in the afternoon it was cloudy, and a gentle,
melancholy, sighing west wind blew to my assistance. The keeper
and his boy strolled along towards five o'clock, and the game was by
this time so merry that they never left me so long as I could sec to
throw a fly. Smooth water or broken, deep or shallow, alike gave up
its increase. The fish were not particular as to the fly, with the one
exception of the black gnat, which they would not as much as look
at Replace it with a governor or coachman, and they came with a
heartfelt eagerness most charming to behold. As day declined
they rose short, and when the vapours began to distil from the
meadows they retired from business. The keeper volunteered a
statement. He said he would not care to carry the basket half-a-
dozen miles ; whereupon I offered a suggestion. Acting upon this,
he turned the spoil out upon the buttercups. There were thirty trout,
averaging three of a pound each, and not reckoning the

invalid, which came out on die top of the heap, so mottled and dull
that it bore no resemblance to its beautiful successors. The keeper
that night received double largess. I had to exercise much self.
1 to keep myself from smitin uiliarly on the back, and

I Indian war-dance around the victims. He aid he-
hoped I would come again to those regions, turned over the coin I
gave ii led that if the trout (which he was now packing

into the creel) were not satisfied with die gentleman
in which they were treated, they would be pleased at nothing. ^sA
it wa« not for mc to dissent or rebuVe.

592 The Gentleman's Magazine.

My best-day memory of grayling fishing is of a wet, muggy October
day in Herefordshire. It was late in the month, and as the previous
week had been markedly early frost, the sere leaves, having lost their
.utling down on the water «iih every gust, and indeed
from the mere weight of the rain. It was pretty pod ,'ing

the flies so as to avoid these little impediments ; but it wasted time
and ttniaed the temper, for, according to custom in grayling land,
one had attached four or £ve ffiei to the cast, and thereby increased
the chancet of fouling enlarge

grayling, to l>c placed to the contra account against a most complete
soaking. The better fish were invariably found in the eye or tail of
■ moderate stream, the rest on gravelly or sandy shelves where the
water was about two feet deep. The former hooked themvehet,
taking the tly fairly under water ; the latter came direct to the
surface, and demanded careful striking and playing. Picking rny way
through a copse where the banks were high, I sat down on an over-
hanging rock, to rest. When the eye got accustomed to the water
and its brown bed, it detected a couple of grayling that had before
escaped notice, so closely were they assimilated in colour to the
ground in which they foraged. Of course I lad always accepted the
teaching of my betters that this fish often rises perpendicularly from
the bottom in deep water after the fly, but I had never verified the
statement for myself. I did so now. By proceeding quietly, I could
° dib " the fly over the fish ; it darted straight upwards, missed, and
descended again. As it seemed uneasy a I erase, I repeated

the experiment with precisely similar results. The fish, agitating its
fins at the bottom, nu evidently excited, perhaps angry, and it
hoved me to restore tranquillity, if ;o its perturbed sj'

Instead, therefore, of dibbing, I now allowed the fly to float, a little
submerged, from a couple of yards above the fish, which I fear had
never in its youthful days been taught the mystical proverb, " First,
second, but beware of the third." It came up with a gallant char
and went down soundly hooked. There was no possibility of getting
the landing-net to the water, and no opportunity of travelling the
grayling up or down stream to a convenient place. I had to make
the best of the position, and th< die employment of brute

force. Hauling up a half-pound fish lxxhly a distance of fifteen feet,
when the said fish is held only by a tiny golden palmer on the finest
gut, is not a likely manoeuvre. The grayling behaved well for a col,

>rds or so, and then bethought himself of plunging; the conscqucnco
being that 1 lost my hook, and he dropped into a tuft of bracl
nicl»e below, to die ust\t*i\>\ Ttoew aojwl than fishing

Best-day Memories: a Soliloquy. 593

for grayling, and no healthier exercise on a frosty morning, when the
sun has been up a few hours.

Down in Wcssex lies the scene of ray best-day memory of pike.
There were occasions when I caught more fish at line-baiting, but
that is a process of which one ought not to be as proud as of the
more workmanlike method of spinning. This was a spinning day
pure and simple. 'Hit- sport was good ; the adjuncts were enjoyable.
It was a fine lake in an ancient park, and a right glorious November
day. November bears so bad a character on the whole thai it should
be a matter of honour to say a good word in its behalf whenever pos-
sible. October had been fine throughout. A day or two of drizzling
rain fell at its close, and afterwards cloudless sunshine set in. This
brought us to Guy- Faux Day, and h was on that historical date thai
I found the autumn tints such ns I have never seen them for mag-
nificence at any other time. Then 1 had a comfortable boat, an
obliging attendant to pull it, and plenty of fresh, medium-sized dace
for bait. The lake, if left to itself, would have been choked with
anaekaris, but the proprietor, by means of a machine driven l>v steam
—a sort of submarine plough— kept certain portions clear. The pike
I knew would not at this time of the year be absolutely amongst the
weeds if they could avoid it: for they prefer cover without a taint ol
decay ; but I reckoned rightly that I should meet with them in the
watcr-lanes through which the machine had been driven. One large
triangle in the vent of the bait was sufficient tackle. I am not cer-
tain that more elaborate flights arc better anywhere ; for weedy water
I should have no reservation. From ten o'clock till five, with b.ilf
an hour for luncheon, I worked hard, acquired a grand shoulder-ache
that lasted me three days, and covered the bottom of the boat with
close upon three-quarters of a hundredweight of pike in prime con-
dition. The largest fish ought to have weighed twenty, but it only
turned the scale at sixteen pounds. According to the recognised
rules of the game, this fellow should have been taken in the deepest
water ; but it was a fish that could probably afford to set rides at
defiance. I struck it, anyhow, in less than sixteen inches of water,
and when I least expected it. We had worked our way to a shallow
end of the lake, where the submarine plough had not ventured, and
observing one clear space in a waste of anacharis, I threw into and
spun across it, moving a fish that went into the weeds beyond. It
went so leisurely, and made so distinct a track, that I, more out of

N curiosity than anything else, gave it a second chance. The bait was
for a moment entangled in the weeds, but was released easily. There
was then a sudden -plash that could be heard afar, and a Ratal
vol. caav. xu. 1787. q q

594

The Gentleman's Magazine.

ic of my
paraded

r Bengal

the

with, I

I Alfaf

running out oflinc. A salmon would not have fought more |
than did this jack during a splendid quarter of an hour. Another
five minutes, and it would have got away scot-free ; for it was held
by one hook only of the triangle ; even this had been much strained
in the tussle, and it came away the moment the gaff was driven in.
The fish were conveyed to town in the luggage-van, and some of my
angling friends were driven wild with envy at the sight of •

l.'MM.

If Nriwahs have memories, and the Nawab Nazim of
should to-day be thinking in his Indian palace, as I am
Queensland bush, of the same subject, he will remember that mmroer
day in hay-time when we i A ride by ride roach-fishing in the Colne,
and how we both ftgr r it was over, that it was the best day's

bottom-fishing we had ever had. He made this admission to me
with the gravity natural to an Oriental potentate ; I. not having »
many jewels and claims against the Government on my mind, with, I
hope, not unbecoming But we were both in earnest

worthy Hindoo and his son wctc adepts in this modest branch I
the gentle art, and the Nawab, spite of his big spectacles,
detect a bite as if he had been a roach-fisher all his days. Any other
description of angling would, 1 pn -c been alieo to the tastti

of an Oriental, but thin offered a minimum of exertion. I seated
myself a respectable distance above their highnesses, and if nowed
then my pneked iisli disturbed their " swim," they mast admit tbej
ved the full benefit of my ground-bait, which, as the hdh
gradually dissolved, crept down to sharpen the appetite* of the fan
within their sphere. The Nawab of those immense bsntboe

rods, the sections of which have to be unshipped at the taking of
every fish, and whenever re-baiting is necessary. This I am aware b
the regulation mode amongst Thames and sea roach-anglers ; b«J
its clumsiness always forbade my cultivating it. A light rod and fine

unning line were more to a L;h I had

to p3y for its indulgence by losses.

On this particular day the roach were, in angler's parlance, "(
the feed ;" and the water was of the precise degree of do
suitable for the operation. The Nawab and his son had selected *
reach of water where the current was sluggish, and they undoubtrdly
took the finest roach. I had chosen a favourite swim at the tail of a
rapid, and commanding an eddy, where you could generally make
sure of picking up nib or wandcnn . and it was my

fate to have a good deal of amusement with the larl "gger-

headed chub of three pounds or thereabouts ran down to pay nonage

Best-day Memories: a Soliloquy.

to the Nawab, but I contrived to check its career before it intruded
itself into the presence, and the capture of this fish was watched and
criticised with much eagerness by my neighbours. About threc-and-
twenty pounds weight of fish fell to my share that day, and the dis-
tinguished strangers had ten pounds or so more. Roach-fishing is
not an exciting phase of sport ; and though it is by no means the
tame or simple pursuit many persons affect to think it is, it is not
worthy of the name of high art. It is not to be compared to fly-
fishing, spinning, trolling, or drawing and sinking ; it stands some-
what on a par with ledgering for barbel. Yet it is a most pleasure-
yielding occupation, and, amongst London anglers at least, furnishes,
it cannot be denied, the greatest happiness for the greatest number.
And touching best-day memories of this fish, I am half inclined to
think that they should go back to the far-off schoolboy times when I
used to "snatch a fearful joy" by surreptitious visits to the mill-
stream, and when, with a little hazel rod, length of whipcord, and rude
hooks whipped to twisted horsehair, I would hurry home to breakfast
with a dozen roach sirring through the gills upon a twig of osier.
They were all best days then. Somehow, the primitive accoutre-
ments seemed to answer better than the improved improvements of
modem science. Or, is it that the fish have grown wiser along with
the rest of the world? There may be something in that. My expe-
rience of the roach is, that it is particularly wideawake ; yet Walton,
back in the 17th century, formed a different estimate, saying, "The
roach is accounted the water sheep, for his simplicity and foolishness."
This must surely touch the doctrine of evolution,

I should be the most ungrateful of anglers if I did not acknow-
ledge my indebtedness to the dace. It so happened that, whatever
else fortune denied me, it gave me opportunities, of which I could
without hardship avail myself, for dace-fishing ; and, whatever sins of
omission I may in my old age have to bring forward in self-accusation,
I shall never lie able to plead guilty to neglecting any Opportunities
soever m the matter of angling. For the dace therefore, AS a fish whose
mc- pprecbted from youth upwards, I entertain great respect

There is no dullness about it. Go down to the fords when the dace are
spawning.and you shall see the water boiling with their gambols, and
shooting silver as they wheel and frisk about. Take them under any
circumstances, so long as they are in season, and they always impn
yoa with their live laracter. The roach, in biting, sometimes

scarcely moves the quill float; the dace startles you by its sudden
sharp onslaught. A roach, firmly hooked, ought never to be lost ; it
requires a dexterous hand to pilot a dace safely out of a rapid current —

Q<)2

596 The Gentleman's Magazine.

that is to say, a (lace of two or three to the pound And the dace b

deserving of respect because it will honestly take the fly.

roach does so too, occasionally; but the dace, any time between June

and September, rises regularly. We used to get them in the <

considerably over half a pound in weight, and an afternoon's perse-

verancc and a little wading would, in favourable weather, |

twenty to thirty fish into your basket. Hut it i

this can be done now. Many a pleasant evening have I ■: ■ nt by

Tbune*-side, beginning nt Han Lane and working

crossing the river below Richmond hridj

tackle and a black gnat somewhere on the footline. The finest

of sport 1 had with dace was in a ID DI couple of mile

of Norfolk. It was specially welcome because quite

Wc were Oil a i like-fishing excursion, and the I i :hc

dog-cart to provide bait for the party, and the great wheel wa-

volving, and the pool swirling and foaming, when wc arrived, and a few

small fish could be detected in the fallow water. The general outlook

was not promising, bat Ihe

of things proving better than they looked. Chance favoured us. The

first cast produced a d;n an hour

I had whipped out a gu i crs.

So long as the dace w ig, all the pike in the nvcr CO

tempt me to accompany them. 1 stuck to the whipping) and a

left off killing dace when I was too tired to wield the rod any more. It

was carious thai in one pan of the pool, and one

This amplified (he business aroaxingly. I took up n
on one i' square yard of inn. .nil hcl acr*

Nr, .... :,, ■, ■ ■ on< 6sh picl
another would take it pi • it was

end the Hies <|uitc five-and-fi
is nothing remaxkable in a .
when it has to be repeated <-.

enough. It would not be difficult to call up U-.i day
memories of gudgeon, of bleak, and even minnow ,»,J

carp, and bream. The moment for my d. ,i« cane.

The little mare is ready, my pipe has gone out, the lead in the
case is used up, ' <«n

miles to be disposed of bcfbi

couple of hours. I can continue ,.^1,

the bush ; there will be no
edj tike bird named ihe
I with bj
ih deriw

597

AMERICAN STORM-WARNINGS.

" A NOTHER depression coming from America" has been so

A common a topic of conversation during the past year that

many will be glad to learn a few facts regarding these predictions, so

i to be able to judge for themselves how far they are to be relied

upon.'

Attempts had been made in 1865-66 by M. le Venier,
of the Paris Observatory, to utilise the submarine cables from
America for the purpose of warning Europe of the approach of
storms from that country. These attempts failed ; but M. le Verrier
hy no means considered that his failure was due to any impossibility
of obtaining data sufficiently accurate to make the warnings of any
practical use in Europe: he attributed his failure principally to
the fact that the telegrams which he received from Newfoundland
did not give him sufficiently accurate information of the approach of
storms from the interior of the American continent The care with
which M. le Verrier drew up the charts in the " Atlas des Mouvc-
ments gt-ne'raux de l'Atmosphere," which were based on observations
taken to prove the passage of American storms across the Atlantic,
showed that he had not given up the hope that the problem would
be solved hereafter.

Some years after the abandonment of M. le Verrier's attempts,
the English Meteorological Office took the matter up. For four years
they received telegrams gratis from the Anglo-American telegraph
station at Heart's Content, but finding that they would in future have
to pay for the telegrams, they resolved to allow the service to drop,
as they had been unable to turn them to any practical use. This
occurred in 1871, and no further attempt was made (except an isolated
warning received from the United States Meteorological Office in
1S74) until Mr. Bennett commenced the present system in February

There can be no question as to the cause of the failure of the

' It is but fa:r |0 DOW the fact that tint only the cost of the wcather-tclcgrami,
but lb* expense of obtaining tin uifufiiuunn u].nn which tlicy are based, it borne
Mr. J. Cordon liennett, the proprietor of the Afar York Hv.-.i.i.

598

The Gentletnan's Magazine.

attempts made liy the Rnglixh Meteorological Office between 1867
and 1871, and of the wide difference of the data upon which they
based their warnings, compared with those upon which the present
ones are issued. The former telegrams were r> m Heart's

Content, ■ pkee which bad been specially chosen as a site for the
termination of the Atlantic cable because it was a sheltered spot ;
thus the wind fell at the httd >>i the lay there, and reported 1
observer to the English Meteorological Department, bore little or no
relation to that which was blowing outside. The present telegrams,
on the contrary, are based upon observations taken at intervals
all over the American continent. The New York Herald Bureau
receives reports not only from the signal stations in all parts of the
I'nitcd States, but also In. 1:1 British Columbia, Mexico, and the
Central American States. So perfect is the system of signalling the
arrival of storms on the American Pacific coast, and so numerous
are the observers, that it would be almost impossible for even 1
small storm-centre to pass inlaml unnoticed; and in the case of
Atlantic storms, those that do not actually |>asx over Alabam,
Honda, Georgia, or the Carolina?, are reported from signal stations
On the coast of those States by the marginal winds that they induce,
and their departure towards Europe is certain to be signalled
When the storm actually passes over those States, informatioa b
received from a still larger number of stations. But enough has bees
said to show how totally different the circumstances of the cases*
from those which Mended the attempt of the English Metcorologkal
Office, and that the failure of thi .-. at all, bs!

was only one of the many instanci ilun causing people

to give up a thing in disgust which, had they persevered in it, veals'

obably have resulted in success.
The advantages which a thoroughly organised and trustworiky
system of storm-warnings would confer upon European nations, vA
more especially upon Great Britain, arc obvious to any one. v
remember many an instance where vessels, after a long voyage, hsre
been lost on our inhospitable shores, almost, as it were, within sfl*
of home. The Royal Charter was an instance of this, but one tnstis
still fresh in all nur memories is that of the Eurydict last year. Tte
violent squalls whii h occurred ■■'. that time m ted inatekgs"

rhich reached England five days previously; and had any mesnt

asted of warning the Eurjdia by signal that a storm-centre «*»

expected to reach here that very day. very likely that hn

in would have kept cither his studding-sails up or hit ports

open.

Lent,
had

arc

American Storm- Warnings. 599

When once it is found that storm-warnings arc really to be
pended on, a system of signalling homeward-bound vessels will
an be developed, and they will at any rate no longer be taken
unawares, as they now so. often are. But it is not only homtivard-
bound vessels that will benefit by such a system, for it too often
happens that outward bound ones meet a terrific gale with cargo not
properly stowed, and men not yet settled down to their places. To
meet a severe gale in this condition is dangerous work, and it too
often results, as it did in the well -known case of the unfortunate
London, in the loss of a vessel which would never have happened
known the weather he would have to face- There
arc many other ways, also, in which storm-warnings would be of
immense value, and one amongst them is the case of an army in the
field. The terrible privations which our army in the Crimea ex-
perienced would have been to a great extent prevented if timely
wanting could have have been sent of the terrible storm which
scattered our fleet in the Black Sea, and sent so many of them to

» the bottom with then priceless cargoes.
The urgent necessity for getting earlier information of the
approach of storms from the Atlantic caused an experiment to be
made some years ago by mooring a signal-ship at the entrance of the
Channel, with a telegraphic connection between the ship and the
nearest land. Great difficulty was experienced in keeping the tele-
graph connection in a perfect state, and the attempt was abandoned,
partly on that act oust, and partly on the score of expense, which was
enormous. Even if tin; arrangement had proved a success, die
warning given would have been so short that but little use could
have been made of it. If, however, the theory on which the American
storm-warnings arc based turns out to be correct, we shall obtain
nearly all the information that we could get from a vessel moored
600 miles out in the Atlantic, and much longer beforehand. And
more than this, it will add immensely to the safety of vessels crossing
the Atlantic.

That Uieory is founded on the passage of storms from west to
east along particular "zones" <>f low atmospheric pressure. The
exact determination of the position of such zones would of course
tend to immensely lessen the danger 10 vessels crossing the ocean.
The fact that storms do take a recognised " route " can to some
extent be proved in the other hemisphere by the extraordinary
frequency of cyclones at Mauritius, where, at BOOM sca>;ons of the
year, they arc of weekly occurrence.

The great difficulty that a writer on any subject of this sort has to

6oo

The Gentleman's Magazine.

contend against is that the public do nut understand enough of it t"
take an interest in it ; they believe that without previous education it
is impossible for them to do so, and therefore ma!-: -r mindi

that it is of no use ti

Those few persons who are initiated, as a rule, make such a parade
of technical terms, to show their deep knowledge of the subject, thai
they thoroughly frighten away outsiders. The meaning of isobars,
gradients, anticyclones, regions of ii urc, &c &c, is quite

unknown to the uninitiated. The word " isobar " is derived from
two Greek words signifying *' equal weight," and an isobar is a
line passing through two places where the barometric pressure
is equal. On looking at any weather-chart it will be seen that
these lines generally form curves more or less sharp round certain
spots. When the readings of the barometer decrease towards the
centre of the curve, the district is called cyclonic ; and when, on
the contrary, the readings increase towards the centre, it is called
mticydonic. The whole surface of the earth is, in fact, at any
given moment divided into a numbeT of districts, either cyclonic
or anticydonie, as the case may be. A cyclone is a patch d
defective pressure in our atmosphere, into which the air is pouring
from the surrounding regions, of higher pressure. It is round
these depressions that Rami revolve, and It is their approach to our
coasts that tin. Atneri in predictions refer tu, The whole theory of
the American »iorm warnings is |>n<cd upon the possibility of tracing
the path of tl It must l>c remembered that, situated

as v land, in a position which catches the fust brunt of

■ve crossed the Atlantic, no system of tele.;: trODB

European ftationi can much help us. At the best, It can but give us
a few hours* waning. To be of real service, those hours must be
turned into days, and that is what the New Ycri IftralJ Bur.
to achieve, and to som tent, at any rate, have already achieved.
Cyclonic systems, or depressions, arc invariably accompanied by
strong winds and wet and it is their approach from the

Atlantic of which i vclonic,**

derived from the Greek word for a • formerly suppose I

apply only to tropical storms, and the majority of storms in these

faltil td to Im " st: HOW

we" :lut the one are really as

cyclonic, or • ical one.

[might-line itc rate

ire to be found in any

| of the H Xt \oca\ v,W»**k«wv omskA *t»\ some

American Storm-Warnings. 60 1

special contour of the land. All our really bad weather comes from
the Atlantic, and almost invariably accompanies cyclonic storms,
volving round depressions which have cither had their origin in the
equatorial zone of the Atlantic, or have originated in the Pacific and
crossed the American continent. Some few storms originate on the
American continent itself, but the great majority belong to one or
other of the classes mentioned above. Those which originate in the
equatorial zone of the Atlantic are by far the worst, and the American

I writers confine the word " cyclone " to these storms alone, as being
Of ;i different character from all other storms.
Before considering the course and peculiarities of these storms,
which .ire fortunately of comparatively rare occurrence, we will first
glance at the other class, viz., the Pacific storms, which comprises the
great majority of the storms which come to us from America. All these
storms, however, do not originate in the Pacific ocean, for they fre-
quently pass over the Pacific ocean from the Asiatic continent in the
same way that they cross the Atlantic from the American continent.
The number of these storms that cross the Pacific cannot be accu-
rately determined until a system of observations is introduced on the
cast coast of Asia similar to that now in operation on the west coast of
America from the West Indies to Newfoundland. At present we know
little more than that they usually cross in northerly latitudes. The
actual origin of these storms, however, is not of so much importance
to us, though a subject of the greatest interest to all who make a
study of meteorology- The great thing is to have a certainty that
their arrival on the Pacific coast of the American continent shall be
at once reported ; and so complete is now the network of observers,
that. M already staled, it is hardly possible foreven a small depression
to pass inland unnoticed.

Pacific storms may be divided into three classes. The first
strikes the west coast of America in Oregon and Vancouver's Island,
leaving a quantity of its moisture there. It then passes over all the
intervening Tanges of the great plateau towards the line of the Rocky
Mountains in Montana, and the British territory northwards thereof,
the storm being here attended with but little rain or snow. This
region cannot supply it with any humid air, but on its centre reaching
eastern slopes the case is very different. It now enters a region
there it can draw a full and uninterrupted flow of humid air from
he great river valleys, the lakes, and the distant Gulf of Mexico.
centre of the storm now moves eastward, eitheT towards the
Mississippi river or towards the lakes. In doing so, as it descends
the mountains to the plains, it passes through air of increasing

6o2 The Gentleman $ Magazine,

density, and acquires greater energy every mile it advances. High
pressures to the northward and southward of the (rr

constantly feed it with fresh voh :>eing of differ

conditions of temperature and nun. :uce the rainfall 1

generally begins when the eastern margin of the depression enters the
Missoun ' I it region of the p4ains the storm increases

in energy, and at the same lime finds an ample supply of moisture.
It continues its course over Iowa, Illinois. Ohio, and Kentu-
towards the upper Ohio valley and the narrow neck of land between
Lake Ontario and the ns. The barrier formed by

the Alleghany mountains deflects the storm towards the north-c
and thence over New England to Nova Scotia. Although these
storms but very rarely cross die Alleghanics, still the
the rainfall of their eastern margin, so that on ncaring the Atln
their precipitation has been nearly exhausted and they do not
recover it until they receive from the Golf StT 'pply of

humid air.

From the coast of Nova Scotia die storm just described
commences its passage of the At).. ne direction that it will

take in it* passage, and I it that it will -non the

European coast, emir

hjgfa ataospbttv pressure, north tad touth of i|a course. Theft
regions oi In. h presture, i.e. ami regions, where the barometer

stands high, being distributed from south and north in a series of
continuous but moval . mark the direction of the storm'*

advance so clearly as to -n observer on the American

coast to predict will i general accuracy the section of the European
coast on which the storm-centre will arrive, as well as the time < i
at rival.

The seco&d typeoJ P BOS arrives on die southern and

central section of the Califurnian coast as a grt ion. Ha>

poured iocs divided into two sub-

areas of low lwrometer by the Sierra Nevada range. After being
split up in this way, one of the sub-areas (usually the largest) takes a
south-easter'. . m across Southern Nevada into Arixona.

crosses the Rocl i Texas,

where it is organised into a Stoi me mmm

inoi :, as the pi areacros- tana.

irea passe Gallic*: I ho, and

thence across the Rocky mo

volley in Montana. I direction

the upper lakes, but someum**. >ha\ <& >3wt. Www *A\»«jut\ valley.

American Storm- Warnings. 603

! force of ihc storm which this sub-area causes is much less than
one formed in Northern Texas. These two storm-centres
times again unite west of the Mississippi region, but they
Jy preserve their identity, and an anticyclonic region of high
pressure gradually develops between them. The northern centre
moves away north-east ova the lakes and Canada with diminishing
energy, the southern one advances into the lower Mississippi valley,
its outer edge reaching to the coast of Georgia and even into the
Atlantic, but the centre moving towards the Ohio valley westward of
the Alleghany mountains. The section of this depression next the
Atlantic gets cut off by the high range of the Alleghanies, thus
temporarily forming a third sub-area. As the mountains decrease in
elevation, these two centres draw again towards each other when
they reach the latitude of New York. Storms of this type generally
leave the coast between latitudes 380 and 420. The courses of these
storms are in comparatively low latitudes, and they arrive on the
British coast from the west or south-west with moderate rains and
winds " backing " from north-east to north-west.

The third type of Pacific storms originates in the tropical zone of
that ocean. Striking the Mexican coast, they move directly across
thai territory into Southern Texas, and along the Gulf coast over
Flodda and Georgia to the Atlantic. The energy of such storms is
frequently very great, and they retain, even after crossing the Mexican
plateau, many of their original cyclonic features. As they move
north cast through the Mississippi valley, they are always attended by
heavy rains and duinderstorms. Local storms or tornados are fre-

ntly developed on their south-eastern margins during the spring
and summer, and are always very destructive. These Mexican
storms sometimes, but not often, cross the Alleghany mountains from
Tennessee to Virginia, and pass into the Atlantic northward of Cape
Hjttcr.is, but both in this case, and in the more ordinary one where
theytakt parture from Florida or Georgia, their courses across

the Atlantic- are generally southerly as compared with those of "storms
leaving Nova S«otiu. They arrive on the British and French coasts
from the south-west, but are now and then tarried in a north-easterly
direction, passing to the Norwegian coasts northward of Scotland,
and thence over the Scandinavian mountains into north-eastern
Russia and the Siberian seas.

I have now finished the description ot the track taken by storms
originating in the Pacific, and come to the most important class of
storms which cross the Atlantic, viz., those that originate in the
equatorial zone of that ocean, i.e. the region embraced between the

604

The Genl Lilian's Magazine.

later and 15° north, and whi. . Rated, are of a roost

destructive character.

These cyclones can be divided into four classes, viz.: —

first. Those that originate near the Cape dc Vcrdc is:
make thii: northward curves cast of the 35th a, and do not

affect the Amerii in 1 oasts, but enter die European area over Morocco
and Spain, i' 1- in.; eastward over the Mediterranean sex They ate
oi 1 omparadvely n

Second. Those tli onrdiward

east of the 80th meridian, affecting th
winds which their proximity causes.

Third. Those that originate tely east of the Caribbce or

Windward Islands, and curve 1 the 80th and

90th meridians, so as to pass through the eastern jurt of the Gulf of
Mexico, and over Alabama, Florida, Georgia, and the Carolina*
towards the North Atlantic.

Fourth. Those that originate nearer to the equator than the 01
referred to, and make the tremendous sweep from the middle 01

in between the Venezuelan coast of South America and thai
: Africa, over the West Indian Islands to the coast 01
and there, curving nor id eastward, pass over the southern

sections of die United States, and into the North Atlantic net l
Rattens.

I'll, hr ,; 1 tan do not affect the weather in this COU I ate

only of import.ui> Be to

from here to West Aim an w South American ports, or by Cape re
to India.

The second class, vi ■ the 40th.

and • northward about the Soth My take

northerly courses, and re< ily affect thi

u tin ir lir.-.t ii north of tl

coast The only 1
RCCO texvedisE

■ fore know but lit..
only developed in
occurrci-i
third c! .:■■

to the north between the Sc; .nx,

is a well-known type oi lygood v

course it usually takes*
which was signalled 10 1 xHvion Vj \v> Vfc*

American Storm-Warnings. 605

passage of this storm over the South Atlantic coast of the United
dUta was attended by many disasters, wrecks, and inundations.
Its course towards Europe was very far south until it approached
the Hay of Biscay, when ii moved sharply to the north-east,
causing heavy gales and rains, with thunderstorms, in the British
Islands.

The fourth class, whit h nuke the complete sweep of the Gulf of
Mexico, arc generally of tremendous violence. The best instance
of this class was the storm of September SI, 1S75, generally known
as die great Galveston cyclone. These storms, after leaving the
American shores, near Cape H.UUr.is, strike across the Atlantic and
rive in England from the south-west.

The centre of these storms moves very slowly as a general rule,
d there appears to be more difficulty in predicting the actual day
tif tln-ir arrival than with any of the other classes.

Swing given a rough sketch of the different classes of storms
cross the Atlantic Ocean to Europe, it is now necessary to refer
to the theory upon which these American warnings are hascd,
viz., that in stating, as most works on meteorology do, that the
Itmotpbere over the whole world is divided into areas of high and
low pressure, though stating what is perfectly true, still a most
important point is overlooked, viz., that these regions of high and
lovr pressure are not mixed indiscriminately, and subject to no general
laws, but that, on the contrary, it will be found that the- high-
pressure regions encin le the earth in a number of unbroken " zones."
Batmen these zones of high pressure lie the zones of low pressure,
along which the storms lake their course. The axes of the zones of
high pressure, though nominally in position) nearly pantile] to the
opxitor, are sometimes so displaced by the influence of storms
g along the low-pressure zones, that they form an angle of 450
or more with the equator,

The actual margin of these high -pressure zones is constantly
undulating, as well as their axes, under the influence of the storms
passing along the low-pressure zones, and which press in upon them.
It is on the resistance offered by the margin of the. high-pressure zone
that the direction taken by the storm mainly depends. If the " zone
theory " be correct, it is of the utmost importance that the general
trend of the axes of the zones of high pressure should be discovered,
which can only be done by a series of daily observations over large
areas in America, Europe, and ^sia.

The cause of a storm over Europe will, in fact, be governed
this theory be correct) only by the high-pressure regions north

led (if
h and

606 The Gentleman's Magazine.

south of it 'Hie rate at which its centre is advancing enables an
observer to form a fairly accurate estimate of the time it mil probably
take to cross the Atlantic, but in many cases it is impossible, with the
information . -it present at their command, for obsi . :!ic other
side of the Atlantic to say for certain whether a storm « the
shores of England or be deflected by the resistance of the high-
pressure zone and thrown on the Norwegian coast. tance of
this occurred quite recently. A warning was issued fron 'led
States bureau that • storm would strike the 1 ■ rwcgisn
coasts on the ind September last. A violent gale did strike the
extreme north coast of Scotland on that iSxf, doing immense
damage to the Ik ■•orm-centrc passed further
north than had been anticipated, and the weather in the soutii

;land was not in the least arV ng particularly fine, How-
ever, the table which now follows will show that the Ntrald bureau
telegrams have, on the whole, been very successful. Of course, it by
no mean* follows tlut a storm reaches here with the energy it pos-
sessed when it left America. Fortunately for us, much of its force
is frequently lost on the way ; but it is surely no reason ige
the efforts of 1 n the United States because I
lli' i ible that 0 rm i"l!ows contains a complete list of
ings issued by the SinU Bureau bctwci i and Sqitcmbcr
30, 1S7S, and the at iu.il weather that resulted in this country on the
dates for which the predictions were issued.

dm* or
iancef

..imin«

l>U.M«««.

•• «*

March

A ureal Moon will probably
arrive on the north tod
central European cooitt
about Ibc Sih. with

lowed by'

The Moon will be
.lantercmt In Atlantic north
of 45 decree*,
ward-bound veueli.

Heavy calrt hom N.W. on
our north «n.| ii"rr|i citt
coasli on Mar.'

virV
•now full.

Succcaa-

iota

1 •

will

1 cfore
ibc lath. Tin-

Heavy k«I. «m|
■MtVl

r 41

American Storm-War jiings. 607

Date at

b-aaf

• *■■■

Cable M«u£c Results

" »

British islands. The dis-

to have

turbance 1:. itri-

affected

.: 1

cms one in German Ocean !

French

and western Baltic.

coast.

1878

A depression, with several N.W. gales on Norwegian
centre- of disturbance, will conit. Did not affect

l'-irlial

15th

•ttcceas.

March

probably reach the British : British Islet,
uid Norwegian coasts
■bOU the 19th, with heavy

rains Kits

the S.E. veering to N.W..

and possibly lightning.
Bail weather will prevail

in Atlantic north of lat itiide

45 degrees.

.Sth

A aten-etatn trill probably

reach the north British and

The storm arrived exactly to

Success.

Much

(he day, 23rd March. It

Norwegian coasts about

*nu accompanied by heavy

the 23rd, with heavy 1

snow-squalls, in one of

possibly mii.ik , and Si Ell 10
N.W. galo. Another de-

lefa 11. M.S. Jiurydke

Ma Inst off the Isle of

pression will arrive on cen-

Wight. The depression

tral coa»t«cil BnfOM abOOl

predicted for 25th arrived

2 (tb, also attended by rains oil British coast on night

and high winds, and will of 24th.- Heavy squall*

affect Briii- lb Mr

with snow and hail

France. Bid weather will

throughout the country.

continue in Atlantic north

of latitude 30 degrees.

*Jth

A very large depression is

Heavy gales 29th and 30th.

Success.

fcfaldl

moving towards F.urope.
It» Morm centre will pro-
bably reach I'm i-.ri, Norwe-

snow and very low tem-
perature. The Tim/i of
isi April IMCiaUy refers to

gian, and possibly French the very destructive cha-
coasts about 30th. causing | racterof this storm both on

gnu] and heavy nlna, land and tea, and saya thai

with mow in northern for many hour* it "attained

diitricts. and strong S.F.
veering to N.W. wind.
and gales, and a sharp
fall of temperature Atlantic
weather. North of latitude

the force of a hurricane-"

40 will ciintiiui'.- itonnj

31*t

March

A depression is moving north-

Strong S.W. to N.W. winds

Success.

eaatwan . D m the New

on 3rd insL, accompanied

i will
ably reach the Nor-

by ram and »liuw,

wegian and nffect the

6o8

The Gentleman's Magazine.

CjM. afnafc

luiiih coasts about April

rj, «rStJ
W. wimU, r.nns and
possibly snow. High
pcraturc will precede, and

liiW foil,, I., till-

Atlantic maihn •

ay l*tween lali
45 ami 55 degrees.

Knnlii

Uilxrc

April

Hlli
rs| 1 I

A den

N.W. witnl-. ind rains will
in. lnM) reach the north
llritiOi ami Norwegian
coasts ■boa] tin
Untie wtnlbi >. north of
ladtad* 3Q •■■ pecs, will
continue alormy.

will prol 11 I'"'

1 '- 1 1 1 . '■ • ud Norwegian, if-

uig the French, coasts,

«ix>u! the Mb, pnetdca

by miti- mil I

K Heavy weather in

llanir hliluilc

40dcgTCO ' luriliy I hr week.

A worm ceniic will
Isably arrive ni' 1
Tttt Norwegian

coasts, with strong S.E. to
S.W.gaVesand rain.
iSih. N.E. v.-
coda ' on the Bri-

tish and Norwegian coasts.

; umtk-easicrty winds
lib on M\
Did not arTec

way.

ly 00
mh, and on ijth strong
wiorj wiili heavy rain
"ghoul the kingdom;
gak I ..ith heavy

sea on west coast of I re land.
The full force of the

Hritain and France, as
the storm-centre pissed
northward over I.iplar/1,
■Ic". ^ia on

the Ijth as a severe storm.

rapidly rwi

night ..f iSih. On lotb
Ihe

over wev. • land ;

and on 21st over raouth <sf
N sea was.
roogrl Wet w rather,
with heavy storms, bl
of hngbrid on loth, and
rain during 1 :

•wn was os»»

raitial

MlCC

01001 „

American Storm-Warnings. 609

Ducal
■atari

CsUeMasac*

Rt.

Success or

fulur.:

1S78
141k

A .i.l

A depression, attended by
nins and strong S.E. lo
\V. winds, will prabtbh
arrive on ihc 1

1 -.renin coasts about
the 26th.

l-'nilure.

uiii

A depress i>

rone, westerly winds and
...in. ■ 111 probably arrive

the 17th, and taXf den lop

considerable storm energy
45 degrees
and eastward.

: westerly gales, with
rain, on 17th, ai
A great
by floods and ligncou

Success.

Mod
May

May

A depression mil probably

III:.

Ni >rivcgiaii coasts about

37th. attended \j i

ndoi an.i

gales. ' 1 ii>

Atlantic north

40 degrees anil «.: .1

longitude 50 degree* will

be stormy.

Depression arrived on 1
anil its as
predict' d rheie 1
much trloi

ignotn

1 li Isle-,
■SO moved over
many to < loll d) Bothnia,
«1m n bam N, 1'. galea
accompanied it

I'artial
success.

A storm-centre will probably
■ con the British and
1 ffCRian eoMtsaltendcd
by

gale*, about Uic 3rd. The
centre will approach from
(he south-weal, ami may
develop increased force
h Sea and west-
era Baltic The weather
in the Atlantic eastward
from longitude 40 and
north of latitude 40 milt
be stormy.

The depression arrl>.

Smith-* i

on jrd June a» predicted.
The centre of it n

OYcl h .Jill Inn.',

attca

caatcrly 10 »outhea»terly
winds except in

of England, where h blew
fnmi S.W. This jic-rm.
like the list, increa..
force when it reached
Baltic and Gull of Bothnia.

Success.

A deep depression will pro-
British and
coasts a!

:roog

■
ur.y wrath-

cast of longitude 50 during
next week.

A large depression ad

IO-J

111I1 Si rung gills in Eng-

on the 1
south-west, ■

rail' 1 baaoel very

Sue
\

R It

6 io The Gentlemaiis Ma-

Dtfaaf

: ■..- •
Ml

GtMcUtuact

Rente

asllan

I8;S

loua

Jone

OR a BtT b rapidly
m">M
and will probnMy «

, affecting French
nil*) Nor .itt»,
nbout i.v
rains and tUOl

.'-'. gales. Another ccn-

The weather •>.
stormy in Atlantic ml of
.■:r>nf
latitude 4CS during the
week.

The Tims register at ink

:a of Norway 00
thai M but men-
tioned as arriving on 1

et uoc ap-
peared to 1 1 1 j inr- of! Miutfa-
vest coasts. This second
it .-**ina moved over Bay

Ireland on
13th. attended by heat**
rain over British IsJes and
Frr.i la Bay of
Bis. \ but gales
on British coast Dot so
y as predated. Heavy
galr
coast of Spain on 14th.

Partial

succcu.

June

• «*ion of >i'

r, and pru-
1*1 thuniler-

British count, i.
west, hclweun yAh Jus*
1 M lijr
loner trmiwreturot.

A well-marked depression
pasted over north of
lartd arui 1 50th,
mo-

on : ^thunder-
storm* in south
On increased

iderablv.wi
storms. Another depres-
sion mined Into German
Ocean on night of and, and
a third one arrived over
north of Scotland and
passed towards Norway.
F.tlrannlinary rsinsal Hat-
6eld and Bath 30th 1
These storms were
eroded by tnurh lowrr

Soceess.

nth
July

»*.

Three depressions, nltcwifl
by moderate gales, rain*,
arulprob: --.-.will
post over the noi
and Norwegian COMls be-

a will extend over ihc

of the .'■

hi of 1 ill:, a depression
advanced -oalh-
D At-
lantic, bringi'
S.W btccre and rain. On

!*■ -ted.
over south of Norway,
the other neai 1

•nee |.it*- 1

Success.

American Storm-Warnings. 611

D..I- 1

Witt

warning.

Cubic Mona«c

Rt-

Success 01

f.ilm.

niorning of 17th Ih
prcxtion was over Mcditci-

■.11 S.K. on Italian
coast, and from E. on
French coast.

,$3

JJnl

;

i centre will, pre
1 •>- - •!:•' 'ion,
probably i li, af-
fecting Frcnch,coavis
tlic27ili, .mended by strong
gales and
rains powbly light!
and followed by a f.
temperature. The storm
track ■ill range
between i and
do degree "lew
degree*, and thence m
eastward over 1 '
Islands.

The "shallow decree
referred to arrived oh 1
coast on morning of 25th,

■
North Sea. It was iccom
panied by man
ttom

fall. The main 'le]ircs$ion
advanced to near the west
coast of Ireland mi

It
wis preceded by very henry
rains, and the Channel was.
b foi ■■ .11 n

■ EH,

July
*

An (xl

mini, will |u- -1 . :■'■-. i. ■
the Ilrilish and Norwegian
coasts, attended by strong

l»t Au^-n '

ancc will prob

i .wed energy east of
longitude 30.

1 b Icpn
:nii\. ! on ..•.--/ .'/

■ ■. it therefore
came lower down th. 1
ted. Cale from

1 2nd.
1. and
very heavj

B 3rd and 4]

NOGCs*

Mi nd
Ml

August

A large depression, moving
ninth-eastward, will prob-
ably reach the- I
Norwegian coasts al- 1
nth, with rains, strong

S.W. win.:
probably

changed to nth by
menage August I

SdUyou

mloa "i uth well,
marked depression ad-
vanced toward

land. Gales on west and
ih-wt»t coasts tl

>y rains. Centre of de-
pression passed toNorthSea

Succeu.

uili
August

4
Z

A Urge depression is crossing

ably re;

wegian, affecting !
coasts about the 15th.
Rairw, strong S.W. to

Call again, \i\ w

' 1 . '.■;"^«*1

Success.

612

The Gentleman's Magazine.

M. N ■'
iwiM of

CM.I. Hi ..:

..ml nroljably
light"

1878

lag •

*6th
An) ni

S«h

A depretaioi

reach the Itritbh, Nor-
wegian, possibly aiTecting

the 151)1, attended by
rang winds.

V depression will

.. on 1 he British, po»-

ting the

wcgiin >n aits,

about the 20th, attended

by 1 .ng winds.

I«U,
Srp«.

sfith
Sept.

A cyclonic storm is crowing
the Atlantic » 1

l, and will i"
reach SpanUh, aJTcetlng
French, cos-1'

. either in the Hay
ay.

A itornxcBlre i» cr.

and will probably reach

Bri:

•bout the iSth, altci

iB-cmal
ithwrtt «rl

.1 h m
■ad Pi

pasted right ore* Briiith

accompanied liy

rite gales, ihnndcr-

n north of S
land was exceptionally
■CM*.

The depression arrived on the
24th. a day earlier than
predicted. It was accuov
paniedlv, la ami

very heavy rains. French
and Norwegian coasts also

■Acted.

Depression arrived on Hie
29th as predicted. On the
30th iboN «'■"■ galea from
weal in the
Channel and over so
Knglond. AlSoi

■rind blew nearly a
hurricane from S.E. Heavy
:., ni ■■■,.: BritUi Met,

Sacew

A violent ■' k the

Spanish and I'ortuguetc
coasts on the 1 ith, causing
grot damage ami >evcral
shipwrecks. The hail also

ureal damage to
yard* and tclrgrip'.
; ain.

Saoeaa

The Morm arrived 00 night of

1 8th

1 ruled by hi
Wiad very strong la
OsMML

A eTrfonlc atom is crowing
the Atlantic ar»nh nf «o

reach " ■■'• ' ■■>! ■■mi

Oetouer. Sioraw Mtatfsw
I :eva»\ swAn <* \W
I We %wttv.

"X ral<

ra.lurr

American Storm- Warnings.

Cable Message

subsequently affect all
western Europe until about
4th.

A depression will probably
arrive on British and Nor-
wegian coast* from north-
west about the 30th, at-
tended by rains and strong
winds.

Rmk

The depression arrived on
night of 29th from the
iioi!h.»cM, attended by
very heavy rains as pre-
dicted.

It will be seen from the above, that out of twenty-seven warnings
issued during that period,1 seventeen proved a perfect success,
eight 3 partial success, and only two were failures. It must be re-
membered, also, that those reckoned as a " partial success " caused
bad weather and heavy rains in most cases, although they did not
bring the heavy gales or strong winds predicted. They were therefore
just as valuable to the general public as those that proved a complete
success, for to them the great benefit that will be conferred if these
predictions prove .1 permanent success will be the knowledge that it
is useless to make engagements that require the weather to be fine on
particular dates. Four or five days' warning that a particular day is
almost certain to be a wet one will often save a vast deal of discom-
t, even if it docs no more.

No better proof of the value of these warnings could be given
than the fact that on the second, and successful, voyage of Cleo-
patra's Needle, Mr. Dixon had daily telegrams sent him from the
Htrald Weather Bureau to enable htm to choose the day for the
start from Ferrol.

Our English Meteorological Office has not hitherto received the
warnings from the New York Herald with much favour. Mr. R. Scott,
F.R.S., of that office, published a pamphlet in 1877 to prove the im-
possibility of getting information of real value in that way. The chief
point he raises is, that a meteorologist in the United States cannot say
"which out of several gales passing out to sea from the American coast
will be likely to travel across the Atlantic with unimpaired energy."
In stating this, Mr. Scott appears to forget that it is not the gait

' It must be remembered that the period taken include) the months least
favourable lo the fltfflMT success of predictions. The eurre»|Kinding period this
year (1879) will show Mill more favourable results.

614

The Gentleman's Magazine.

■ h is predicted as about to cross the Atlantic, bat the centre of

atmosphcr.r dicturbancc(or " depression,'* as it is usually called,) which

cause* the gale. The gale itself is the effect of that depression, anrl

not the cause, and the wind, in fact, circulates round the centre of the

depression like the water round the centre of a whirlpool. That

these depressions hare, at any rate, a tendency to cross the Atlantic

from west to east, is distinctly shown by the writings of Captain

Tojmbee, P.R.A.SL, who, like Mr. Scott, is a member of the English

oorologicaJ Office. Captain Toynbec states, and shows by

diagrams, that steamers, when outward-bound to America, often meet

a accession of "areas of low pressure," and when homeward-bound

to Europe often run with such a system fur a considerable time.

fact, is admits . Scott,1 but he objects that, granting

depressions do cross the Atlantic, it would l«e impossible

irjfy i particular one in its cour*c entirely across the Allan*

Now, for eighteen months the daily observations taken by the

Of a large number of vessel* scattered over the ocean,

OS well a-, those over the Atlantic coast of America, and the entire

European co ly charted by the Paris < ry under

tlic direction of t.'ie lati i. In the large majority of these

leorly shown that depressions do tiot pass over the ocean

iiers as to render any possible confusion in their idct.

;>n.

only a tetj few ;iv!;ii:ic«can be found of sic ig formed

in the north cept in or <;.■

that ocean, anil the latter cyclonic disturbances arc remarkably
infrequent, and when they do occur, almost invariably have a «
ward course at first, which brings their margins at any rate within
the reach of American storms leaving the

continent off the New England and N k coasts, do SO

the great majority of cases with considerable intervals between their
centres— intervals that arc marked by condition ally

prevent the union of the storm-areas. Cases arc known where two or
even three Mom enter what might be i lie same

general area of low pressure, but these instances are i the

Mi 1:1:1 .. complcu

■uity of storm-centres is kept lias been al -ived by

- r rations on the An elf.

Scott specially remarks upon apredii mid

office of the arrival of a storm 1 r coasts (

1-VI

' Viic U'u yoKiyVUx on

American Storm- Warnings.

615

" the path of the disturbance was in such a direction as,
to say the least, would render it extremely improbable that the area
of the depression in question had come from America;*1 and on a
previous occasion he had said that the presumption was that the storm
came from the neighbourhood of Iceland : but, in reality, the very fact
of this storm coming to the British Isles from the north-west was the
strongest possible proof of the accuracy of the data upon which the
Herald predictions are based, for the storm-centre in question took a
general north-easterly course from Newfoundland, and was preceded
and followed by areas of high barometer between which a great
undulation of their zone line occurred in which the storm-centre
moved. When it reached a latitude a little north-westward of
Scotland, and between that country and Iceland, the high pressure in
advance of it extended rapidly over Norway and Sweden and the
1 while the area behind it receded southwards slowly, so as to
. the movement of the storm-centre towards the east and south.
: and over the British Islands, thus bringing it herefrom a north-

; direction.

Mr. Scott's remark, that " it must not be forgotten that the fact of

being reported on the day for which one is foretold docs tiot

iiy prove that the gale felt here is the same storm that left

! .American coast," has been fully answered by the repeated success

( these predictions. So long as a prediction here and there only

successful it might be fair to say this, but Mr. Scott himself

I hardly venture to repeat the remark now.

Ad efficient system of weather-warnings would confer such bene-

lupon mankind generally, and especially upon a maritime nation

ourselves, that it i* to be hoped our English Meteorological

I will sec the necessity in future of working cordially with their

ncrican colleagues.

C. I1AL1 OKI) THOMPSON.

1 Anuri.:r. .S.', .■ m-Wtirningt, p. 6.

6l6

The Gentleman s Magazine.

A PILGRIMAGE TO GLASTONBURY.

AS one of the very earliest homes of Christianity in England,
I venture to think that Glastonbury is inferior in interest
to few, if any, other cities in these islands ; and no one who calls
himself a Christian, to whatever form of worship he may belong,
ought to feel ashamed of having made a pilgrimage to " Yny%
Gydryn," as it was called in British times— the " Clacstingbyrig " of
the Anglo-Saxons. Dr. Freeman, the historian of the Noraun
Conquest, goes even further than this, and in a lecture r»
delivered before the Archaeological Institute's Congress at Taunton,
he thus enthusiastically expresses himself with respect to Glastonbury:
"It is certain that Glastonbury was the one church of first rank in
ml vvliu h Rood as a memorial of the British days, the only one
which had lived unscathed through tli b conquest,

and ivhii.li ; equal reverence from the conquerors and the

conquered. At Canterbury and York and London the Christianity
of earlier days had been utterly swept away by our heathen fore-
fathers. The Roman, die S< ottstli missionary found a field ready to
their hands, when all that survived of the elder day was here and there
a crumbling and desecrated ruin, to which men still ]>ointed I
shrine of a faith which had passed away. At Canterbury and York
and London there is no historic tic between the vanquished Church
of die Briton and the Church of the Englishman vri bides.

A black night of heathenism, of gTcatcr or lesser length, parts off the
one from the other by an impassable gulf. At Glastonbury it was
not so. There the old British sanctuary lived on under English rule,
anil fell only at the hands of destroyers of ba^er mould in days which
by comparison appear but as yesterday. The very arrangements
of the minster of Glastoi I live on, as a speaking wim

tell 01 od on that spot in the days

The church of nicker and timber, work of the '•■

lived on through Engl. s. It WM

enriched by the gifts of Ina ; it Uheld the devotions of Cnutc, when

ri tot vVie tool
the cast of Ibtt primeval c\umcV, vr* \Y.t \«\\\\ c«M»M<),-t.

those

lamb

A Pilgrimage to Glastonbury. 617

statelier minster of stone. The two stood side by side, witnesses of
the sway of two successive nations, till both alike yielded to the
grander conceptions of the architects of the twelfth century. And,
in a figure, both live there still. The western Lady Chapel, in later
times overshadowed by the Legend of St. Joseph, still stands in its
site and place, the representative of the church in which Arthur may
have prayed ; while the great abbey church at the east end of it no
less represents the church which Dunstan reared, and round whose
altars were gathered the tombs of the mightiest rulers of the tenth
and eleventh centuries. The Briton, and the Norman who had
listened to his lore, both believed that Arthur lay in the tomb before
the high altar which bore his name. The Englishman knew that
walls sheltered the shrine of Edgar, the giver of peace, the
ib of Edmund, the doer of great deeds, and the tomb of his
descendant and namesake, the mighty Ironside. There is no other
•i"'t in ISritain which, like this, gathers round it all the noblest
memories alike of the older and the newer dwellers in the land.
Less exalted in ecclesiastical rank, less often in later limes the scene
of great events, less happy in having been handed over to the wanton
will of the most ruthless of destroyers, the church of Glastonbury, in
its ruined state, still keeps a charm which does not belong even to
c mother church at Canterbury, or to the royal abbey at West-
minster. It stands on strictly English ground as a likeness of the
Christianity of those ancient times, while our fathers still pressed on
in the name* of Woden and Thor to overthrow the altars and smite
e ministers of Christ."
I shall leave it to professed antiquaries to settle the derivation of
name of Glastonbury; whether it comes from the "glassy" blue
of the waters which surround it, and still make it almost an
or from the herb "glacst" or woad, with which our forefathers
id to have stained their bodies. It is more to my purpose to
uy that, on account of its apple-bearing qualities, the low-lying
district which surrounds Glastonbury was known as the Isle of
Avalon, by which name it figures in poetry as the scene of some of
Arthurian legends which Alfred Tennyson has awakened into
ih life. For was not this the spot to which, according to the
icient story, Joseph of Arimathea brought the " Holy Grail," and
here he preached the- faith ol Christ and founded a chutch for His
worship?

Although Mr. Freeman is firmly convinced that "Glastonbury

it become English till the year 65S," when the West Saxons

drove back the Welsh to the river Parret and to Pethcrton, yet it is

6i8

The Gentleman s Magazine.

certain that a settlement was i llritish or

Roman en. The origin of the noble a Q long iu

pride is " lost in the mists of B \ up around it

tlxtcenor seventeen ccnti sheltering under the safeguard

of its sanctity, we see a small town, partly secular, but more Largely
ecclesiastical, with the name of Glaston Originally an

island, it is still intersected b\ Bute still flows

at die foot of the town, the marsh lands which once surrounded it

long since been i net) into apple or>

jn<l rich pastures. In spite of be I world

istoubury town

of the middle ages; though the erection of k$ on the

south side of the principal street has blocked out the view uf the
abbey ruins, and renders it rather difficult for ill I ont

the entrance to them,

We turn very naturally to the "Guide-book," and lea;
way of access is through a gat :h was once part of the

Han Inn, but n< itoaconfl shop. We enter, and find

ourselves in a i rder only could

icred a spot. We reach an inner
poster I garden, and I .i»ence

I ourselves in a i
i'.. , ui right, i
is a thom-lrce some fifteen or twenty feet high, a vcritabli
the old Glastonbury thorn, said to lu i *cph

of Arfanathea, and to have been planted by his hi Ice the

parenl he off-shoot, its successor, is said an d all

round the country to blossom at Christmas, When I -
towards the close of February last, t n .»s on the ground ,

Duly green
I to be seen, exa ; : the mistletoe on : ■ trees, for

around.

Wc pass on a few the

of the n -csent

a fine example of Norman and E.

s-. of their colour and the • mouldings add

: lately before us st.i'.-'
niionly called St. Joseph's chapel, though, prop>
w.i the i !i ij c) i f l i

vestibule if laic

Norm i.dthc ruatunrr

Bfe V»i cor.;-

A Pilgrimage to Glastonbury. 619

...il liy conscientious workmen whose souls were in their work,

not above it. The chapel is roofless, but most of its four walls arc

standing. The windows in the upper tier are round-headed, and

beautifully moulded ; the arcades below are formed by round-headed

arches intersecting each other, and spring from light and graceful

shafts, Early English rather than Norman in their character. This

chapel, which occupies the site of one which claimed to have been

tbc oldest church in Britain, was consecrated in a.d. 1186; it

is said to have been " built of squared stones, and to have no

possible ornament omitted ; " and its appearance quite justifies the

expression. Two out of the four tuircis which once adorned its

angles remain; and its north ami south doorways arc fine examples

of Norman art, resembling those at Iffley near Oxford, though the

sculptures which once adorned them arc too far mutilated to be now

deciphered. The northern porch is supposed to have opened into

the burying ground of the laity, and the south into the churchyard of

the monks, covering the spot in which, if the old tradition is to be

Busted, St. Joseph of Arimathea was buried, as well as King Arthur,

1 Western romance. The west end of the chapel is lit by

L triplet of circular-headed windows, and the spaces between the

nndows in the interior are adorned with an elegant interlacing

arcade, with shafts of Purbeck marble. The external buttresses are

flit, after the Norman fashion, and have small shafts at their angles.

: t of the ribs which once supported the vaulting inside is

Still to be Seen.

Eastward of this chapel, and connecting it with the great church
beyond, t-. a second smaller chapel in the pointed style, the deli-
cate ornamentation of which has suffered more severely than the more
.: Norman structure. It was probably not used for mass, but
processions and preai hing, and served as a vestibule to the great
I, Professor Willis goes so far as to say that "it was
I Galilee pon h, to give 1 cess to the western door from the monks'
ictery on the south, and from the cemetery of the laity on the
Bonh." Be this as it may, it is in a sadly ruinous plight; part of its
iirjful floor having fallen into the crypt below, and the
kr part of its walls being pushed out of the perpendicular, and
the same time supported by huge giants of ivy, which have driven
sr tangs deep into the solid masonry. The crypt beneath this
, some ten or twelve feet deep, was probably used, not for
service, but for interments, as many of the pious laity as well
the monks desired to rest in death near by the bones of St. Joseph,
walls of the crypt are extremely thick, and arc sufficiently

620 The Genltonaris Magazine.

perfect at the cast end to show the plan and design of the build-
ing. The antiquary Stukcly, who paid a visit to the Abbey in 17*4,
writes :

Underneath the cha|icl of Joseph of Arimadwa wi* « vauh, now foil of
, lii-ir .il ihc chapel being tteitcn dOWD il *U WKMfhl Willi

great Hone*. There uas a capacious receptacle for the dead \ hut ihry haw
taken up many leaden coffins and melted them into cisterns.

The exact date of this crypt is not known riters regard-

ing it as of the twelfth century, whilst Professor W iters it of

the fifteenth. It should be mentioned that the doorway at
north-west corner leading down into it is of the I'
It may be added, that when an attempt was made to clear out a
portion of the crypt about half a century ago, no fewer than eighteen
coffins of strong oak were found, each containing a skeleton, with a
long rod of thorn or hazel on his right hand These rods, and even
the wooden rests for the heads, were perfect, but they crumbled away
when exposed to the outer air.

In the southern side of the crypt is an arched recess leading down
to a well, which was not known to exist until accidentally discovered
by a party of explorers in 1825, who thought it to be a holy m
and great was the wonder, and many were the surmises of the neigh-
bouring sai'dHS on the subject, some of whom were disposed to con-
nect it with pilgrimages and miracles. But there seems to be little
doubt that the aperture so long choked up with rubbish was a small
room used by the priests for robing and disrobing, and that the well
was probably used for washing the surplice and alb. Though the
eon the well is outside the wall of the I ind

the round-headed arch which covers the form it to be as

old as the Normal) era.

The Great Church, which we now enter, wa
Peter and St Paul, and was of later date and far gre
pretensions than the structure tl It was begun

the close of the reign of Herurj the worl -cd,

probably by 1. through the reigns ol

de Lion and King John, and indeed were not (ii J03,

nearly a hundred and twenty years aft- atiom had been I

The Church was then consecrated. It

was beautified and adorm I ot»

during upwards of two centum .ire

fold, "gave tl
crucifix, and Mary and }<Avn." N.*»\*wx KVJwa, n&u* my,

rich
and

A Pilgrimage to Glastonbury. 621

the same who gave the curious clock to the Cathedral of Wells,
vaulted nearly all the nave, and ornamented it with splendid paintings,
in the reign of Edward II.: he also decorated the high altar with an
image of the Virgin in a tabernacle of the finest workmanship.
Walter dc Monnington, about the middle of the fourteenth century,
put a groined vaulting over the choir, and added two bays to the
Presbyter)-, as Lcland informs us. Both he and William of Wor-
cester mention the fine painted glass which filled its windows. The
gifts of other abbots, especially licerc and Whyting, to the adorn-
ment of the cast end of the church, and the addition of chapels of
our Lady of Lorctto and of the Holy Sepulchre, are duly chronicled
by I-eland. The Great Church was 400 feet in length, or 5S0
including the transitional Galilee and St. Joseph's chapel. This
being the case, and such being the religio loci, it is no matter of
wonder that, four centuries ago, the Abbey Church of Glastonbury
stood second in beauty only to Wells in all Somerset, if indeed second
to it. Besides a long scries of abbots and priors of saintly character,
it was the burial-place of kings and princes, and contained many
rich montinu on and chantry chapels. The remains of King Arthur
, those cf his queen, for instance, were laid before the high altar,
those of Kdmund the Elder and Edmund Ironside to the north
and south of them. William of Worcester states that the entrance
gateway of the church was very grand ; but of this no trace remains.
In all probability it opened into the north aisle opposite the High
Street.

kBut little of this once magnificent structure now remains. The
1 lower piers at its eastern extremity, and one of its northern tran-
>t chapels, arc nearly all that is left. Most of the details, so far as
y can be traced, are of the transitional style, exhibiting a mixture
of the round and pointed arches. One large arch, at the junction of
the chancel and the nave, still stands to show the beauty and propor-
tions of the tower. Rising on high in its lonely grandeur and
beauty, it irresistibly reminds the travelled pilgrim of the tall and
solitary eastern window of the church of Our Lady of Walsingham.

The nave, as we can still trace clearly, was at a lower level than
the chancel, for part of the steps remain. Collinson gives the follow-
ing as the measurements of the fabric : — " The nave of the great
church from St. Joseph's chapel to the cross — where the lower
stood— was 320 feet long ; the choir was 155 feet long ; each tran-
sept 45 feet lon^; ; and the tower 45 feet in breadth and in length."
" A smooth turf," writes the author of the local guide-book, " now
carpets the spot where once no marble could be too costly, no

622 The Gentleman's Magazine.

tcstclatcd floor too gorgeous, for the feet of all the gi he great,

all the noble of the land to tread." And it is good news to learn, on
the same local authority, that " alt fear of f to

these precious ruins is now at an end. Mi •wncrof

the abbey estate, and the occupier of the modern house to the cast
of them, keeps the whole precincts in beautiful order." I can bear
ocular testimony to the truth of his words ; for no turf can be more
green, or tan 1 kept, than that which stretches from I

modern man easternmost wall of the abbey ruins. I a

I could say that the grass which surrounds St. chapel h

the sami yd it has every claim to be k<_

equal reverence and care. William of Malmcsbury the

intense wnctity of the spot, as luring held in espei I on

account :mbcr of saints, martyrs, and confessors who I

ended their days here, and had found a rcsting-p! >d's

acre, or whose bone

after their death. It appears from him to have got in
the name of "The tomb of saints." "Our fathc.
dm

without some great necessity. Enemies and c: I ty men v.

not suffered to lie buried there, nor did any one da >£ horse,

or dog, or hawk upon the ground ; for, if they did io, i'
thai thty died forthwith." So highly, indeed, was the spoi
that " kings, queens. Blthbi hops, and others of a lower de-

gree, esteemed themselves happy
possessions, if only they could gain a place of sepultun
dead." He chronicles the names of many
privilege was accorded, including tw
Patrick of Ireland, St. Da\
Urban, the Venerable Bcdc, and ma
]>osscssirin of whose bones, howeve nly fair t

places put in rival claims It is not a li1

include in his list the nanv was

too well known in connection with Glastonbi
Among the laymen who are said to re is CocI, I

Bn father of Si Hclei

C< ■■: the north -w<

ihi> Iground, were for

of stom

gm ly knockc

the close of the bs)

rttfl-

A Pilgrimage to Glastonbury.

623

It may be remembered that Tennyson embodies this fact in
Holy Grail":—

Tin going a long way,
With lhe»e thou seett. I go.

For all my mind \:\ clouded with a doul't,
Toll! .UcyofAv ■:

1, nor any snow.

No* CVCI >• I

Deep mcadriw'il, happy, (ail ».!li orchard Uwat,
howcry hollows crowncil with summer sea*.
Where I can heal me of my grievoui wound.

The bodies of Kiny Artlv, \ ncvere, accoi.

to Giraldus Cambri iisfcrrcd from this spot to their

Ana] 1 69 ting-place, before the a in the great m the
presence of Edward 1- and his queen Eleanor, when tiny kept 1
at Gl in 1277.

The tradition* l.-icc of Joseph

of Arimathea, though ik; lli.nn of M.ilmcsbury, is

[til get id that he lay soar to die

second windou ofthesoutl . us his name.

; ciuscd a vast noi nns to visit

i to make offerings .it hi I tomb ; and dotlbl

less it was on account of it that tin the chapel was changed,

as stated above.

The legend of Joseph has been 1 debated in song by more dun

act ; and the saint is famous as having brought into Britain

not only the Christian Faith, but also the " Holy Grail," as vtBKH

Tennyson :—

The cup, li

1 'i in' .:■ i' ■ b 1 *A ■■■■''■' 1 IU own.

mat
r the day of darlcncw, when the dead

what the winte: I
Blossoms at 1 Iful of our Lord,

And there while i: jbodr. . 1MB

Could touch or sec it, he wan hc.il'd at once.

In the like manner writes Spenser, in h le Queen ■ : —

— Coed li-
That first received Chrlwfanitr,

cvangetjr :
-., that locuj before that day
1 came Jos

•1>
id iireacht live truth.

624 The Gentleman's Magazine.

A shrine, or feretrum, of Sl DunsUn was for some two i
set up in the church at Glastonbury ; but an unsccinl root

I" -ween the monks of Canterbury and thi " far wot " a* to

the genuineness of two rival seta of bones, each of which were claimed
as belonging to il The strife, I may add, was never M

factorily settled until the days of the Reformation came, when net
all shrines, whethi unbury or at Canterbury, were sumnu

levelled with 6

The far-famed Abbott Kitchen, an octangular stone stru. :
stands about 150 yards ftom the south-west corner of St. Jose;
chapel, adjoining the site of the inonactfc building*, whi>
entirely destroyed with thii

of a field, with B separate entrance, and fenced off fron 1 1 I of

the abbey ruins. This kitchen is generally ascri I ed to Abbot W
but more probably Owl bote Itrainton or CI

about the middle or close of the fourteenth century. It in thus
described byStukcly : " It is formed from an octagon il

■quit ■ Ion Bri | I the fou:

them ; on the flat pan of the roof between these rises tin
octagonal pyramid, crowned with a dc» liorn, oni

another. There are eight curved ribs within, which support

bl funnels for letting out tin through windoms

within which, in n lesser pyramid, hung to call the poor

people to the adjacent almonry, who*: ruins are on the north side
of the said kitch stones of the pyra

slanting with the same bevels, to throw off the tain " The local
guide-book already quoted gives the ions of the 1 at

thirty-three and a half feet square within, am! Feet high

to the top of the lantern by which it is surmoui
that each of the four fiic-hcarths • large enough to rcu

whole, and that the system of double funnels doubtless served to
keep the kitchen free from smoke and steam mal

buttresses, reaching to the roof, form a pks
With respect to this kitchen, there is a trad

having threatened to bum the Abbot's Kitchen bn i for

his hum of living, Abbot Whiti

bui not all the wood in the r<

bui cannot 1 it involve

as - the author of tl

ted to a 1

much earlier chutcVi. V-ovciXuvj, v\\V

A Pilgrimage to Glastonbury. 625

that it was Imilt by some of our Lord's disciples, and that early in
the seventh century, when it was known already as Vetusta Eedtsia,
it was cased with board* and covered with lead so carefully that it
lost none of its sanctity thereby. It is probable that the tradition
contains some germs of truth ; and we may believe, without any
great exercise of faith, that in the British or Roman times — perhaps
throughout both— there was here an oratory or chapel built by very
early converts to the Christian F.iith ; and that this primitive chapel,
constructed out of wattles, withies, reeds, and other such materials,
which were to be gathered in abundance in the Isle of Avalon, was
venerated at a very early date as the first Christian church in, at all
events, the west of Britain. According to a brazen plate once affixed
to a pillar in the church, and afterwards in Spelman's possession, this
primitive t Impel was sixty feet long by twenty-six in breadth, and an
illustration of it is to be seen in the appendix to Warner's " Glaston-
bur.

The fourth chuicfa in lu< ' ession, however, was built by Ina, king
of the West Saxons, early in the eighth century, by the advice of the
then Bishop of Sherborne, and afterwards liberally endowed by him.
This church, with the adjoining monastery, was ravaged and partly
destroyed by the Danes, but was restored by Dunstan, who had been
brought up within its walls as a boy, and who, as abbot, intro-
duced into it the strict rule of St. Benedict. The connection of
St. Dunstan with Glastonbury in early life forms part of <

d's earliest lessons in English history. Largely enriched by King
Edgar, and by other monarchs and prelates, the abbey passed in
due course into the hands of Norman monks, whose impress has
remained marked indelibly upon its fabric down to the present time.
The gradual erection of the great monastic church has been explained
above.

It remains therefore only to say that, after several centuries ot
prosperity and external peace, broken only by the long strife with
Canterbury about St. Dunstan's relics, the royal tyrant Henry set his
covetous eyes on the wealth and treasures of this church; that he
called upon Abbot Whiting to recognise him .is "supreme head of
the Church " — a command which the abbot seems to have obeyed,
probably with some mental reservation ; for when the king insisted as
'•Head of the Church" that the abbey should be surrendered into
his hands, Whiting refused to obey the mandate, and was sent to the
Tower as » traitor. He was subsequently brought down to Wells,
tried and arraigned, and (it is scarcely needful to add) found guilty
and condemned to death. He was carried back to Glastonbury next
TOL.CCXLV. NO. 1787. s s

626 The Gentleman's Magazine.

day, and put to death on the top of the " Torr Hill," which look*
down so proudly on the peaceful valley of Avalon ; hi* bead being
set over his own abbey gate, and his four quarter* tent to Well*,
Bath, Ilchester, and Bridgwater. He is said to have been a BBS
venerable for his year*, and admired on ar< hi* ttrict

and religious life; and it would seem that Mi y in

the fact that, in the opinion of Cromwell and his myrmidons,
abbot's house, with its adjacent deer parks at Northwood and
Sharpham, was " the noblest they had ever seen of that sort ; they
thought it fit for the king and no one ebe

On the poor abbot's death the abbey, its church, and its possessions
alt passed into the hands of the royal tyrant, who, howcveT, did not
care to occupy it. I fa gave it, shortly after, into the hands of the Sey-
mours, Dukes of Somerset ; and the lands were sold — not, however,
till the church had been stripped of its treasures, and the entire range
of buildings given up to spoliation and plunder. The annual income
of the abbey at the dissolution is given as upwards of .£3,000, and
its abbot held a seat in the House of Peers, second on!;.
brother of St. All:

I have said that, in spite of all the ruin worked by plunderers,
'.ts, and the hand of time, the little town of Glastonbury

rs an ecclesiastical appearance. At Ibai

streets meet, near the old western gate of the abbey, stand
market cross— modernised, it is true, but the lawful successor of one
which looked down on the vendors of country wares in the day* rrf
the Plantagenets and Tudors. Close beside it, on the n

li Street, is the old Pilgrims' Inn, now rejoicing in the sign of
[lie George i a Perpendicular i
Selwood in the latter half of the fifteenth century. 1 a mass

of handsome panelling, pierced here and there for a

occupies its centre, while or.

be house. Above the gate arc the arms of the abbe
with those of Kdward IV. "This fine house," wril - of

the local Guide, " is built throughout of freestone,
newel staircase gr. upper rooms. The exten-

ds arc of a dungeon-like nspect : one of the arc!

arancc of having '< up, which suggests the idea that

ust have been connected with the monastery by a passage under
the street. Here ig of water, and also a ntunc teat,

traditionally said to have n.
I'hc abbot \«ud a\l tta

treated as a guest, and *A\owcA to rosam V« vwo <a*jv *\

A Pilgrimage to Glastonbury. 627

i ... ; is, th;it the relics at Glastonbury attracted an enormous number
of people to the shrine*. At first the visitors found accommoi:
inside the abbey; then an hospitium or hospice was erected in
contact with the abbey walls ; and when that did not afford the
necessary accommodation, this Pilgrims' Inn was opened."

In the same street, only a few doors distant, on the same side of
the way, is another quaint Perpendicular house, built by Abbot Beare,
and called the Tribunal. It was originally the court-house of the
town and its neighbourhood, and the cellars or crypt below possibly
sc: ret as a prison. " The hand of time seems to have passed over it
very lightly, and, if we may judge by its ceilings and chimney-pieces,
it remains much in the same state as when first erected." It is still
used as a solicitor's office.

At the eastern end of High Street, on the road leading to the
Torr, is a fine specimen of an abbey barn, cruciform in its ground
plan, and nearly a hundred feci in length. Its windows and gables
arc adorned with elBj ie of the four evangelists, the Virgin Mary, and
an abbot — probably the founder.

Returning to the market-place, we find ourselves standing before
the " Red I.ion Inn," a modern structure, inserted in a nondescript
manner into a larger and handsomer and older building. A nearer
glance serves to show that this house, which sadly eclipses the west
front of St. Joseph's chapel, was originally the grand entrance and
porter's lodge The vaulted entrance for foot-passengers still remains
as it was in the olden time, though it leads only into the inn yard ;
beyond, however, is a small gateway surmounted by the abbot's arms
and supporters, leading to an ancient almshouse for women. The
outline of the can tage entrance is distinctly traceable by an arched vault
in a sitting-room over the present entrance, which is open to visitors,

The town can still boast, though its abbey is a ruin, of two pan.h
dlarchcs — those of St. John and St. Benedict ; the former having at
•U western extremity one of the finest among the many fine towers
for which Somerset is so famous: indeed, it is said that it yields
place to only two others — that of Wrington, and that of St. Cuthbcrt's
*l Wells. The church of St. Benedict, on the road between the town
*nd the station, is of the same character, but smaller and plainer.
'n it is a record to the effect that in the year 1606 the sea made an
'rrnption from the Severn as far as the base of the tower: thus proving
**taex forcibly that the whole valley of Avalon, extending from
Highbridge up to Glastonbury, was once an ami of the sea. By
*htt engineering victory the salt water was driven back, and the
"Jexdow land reclaimed, history does not inform us.

51J

628

The Gentleman's M

On the left hand. ttttOf retun station, ]\c will

a long hilly ridge, marked by a imd with a few in

and there on cithi is known as " Weary

The popular tr.iditi.m is, that it < isme from the I

Joseph of Arimathcn ;u>

having sat down here by the wayside, exclaiming, '
all oi ven the most unlearned antimnry will laugh .

story; for though tl may have climbed

record, I fear, to the effect that he and his companions talked
English tongue I

• several prints of Glastonbury, showing the abbey rut
as tl; lied m the last century, before the remains of the

ventual domestic buildings had been made a public quari
the ronds. Hut the earliest views of the abbey are two plates drw
by Hollar, wli ed in Dugdalc's " Monasticon."

them is taken from the west, from the top of Weary All 1 !
tin- other from the south, hut unfortunately from a still

ice ; they are therefore bird's-eye views, rather than
representations; and they show th dl a scale

to exhibit any of the then ( listing del Jl . though one of them doet
jiisii. c to the genet* The horizon of the former is bounded

by the lofty '■ 1 ■ the eastward of the abbey, which was the

scene of the execution of the i d abbot of Glastonbury.

Her. i will record as briefly as may be die received tradition, canea
throughout Somerset and the west country, respec I toly Thorn

mentioned above. The story runs I hat when Joseph came t<> I
to preach Cfari omc thirty years after the Savioi

the king, Arviragus, gave over to him the whole Ui ol A •
his arrival. in his hand a hawthorn stick, the saint si

into the Ltiiund. when it struck root, and grew, and flowered

ages several thorns were planted by slips from .and they

too, like the parent stern, all budded and I I in the d<

winter.1

Thi! be thorn, another wonderful tree

>ry of Somci . that

M grew in the abbey churchyard of Glastonbury, on the north
. chapel. nus wain u I

' II it aJKttcd in AnttJtttt *f Cttrimi S»t*r,titmt <W Oman llul It
Wojvm urta Id the winter tux been iWinrtfnl, ixii thai »'

year 1844 a 1W0 oi lun- on b

IjloMora oa Chrbftnm t«, *a* k*en\n VWotuW

A Pilgrimage to Glastonbury.

629

Wed before the feast of St. Barnabas (June nth), but on that very
day shot forth leaves and flourished like its usual species. This
tree," he continues, "is gone, and in the place thereof stands a very
fine walnut tree of the common sort. It is strange to say how much
this tree was sought after by the credulous ; and, though not an
uncommon walnut, Queen Anne, King James, and many of the
nobility of the realm, even when the times of monkish superstition

^had ceased, gave large sums of money for cuttings of the original."
In conclusion, the mineral waters of Glastonbury must not be
forgotten. Holinshcd tells us that " King Arthur, being wounded in
battle, was brought to Glastonbury to be healed of his wounds by
the healing waters of that place." But if the waters were found
useful in his case, they would seem to have been neglected and
forgotten for seven centuries — in fact, until 1751, when a man who
had been asthmatic for thirty years dreamed that he was told by
a friend that if lie drank of certain waters near " the Chain Gate" for
seven .Sunday mornings in succession he should be cured. This he
did, and immediately recovered his health and strength, and attested
it by his oath. The wonder was soon noised abroad as a miracle; and
it was computed that shortly afterwards some ten thousand persons
flocked to Glastonbury to drink its waters for various distempers :
but the popular delusion — for it was a delusion — did not last above
a twelvemonth.

E. WALKORD.

630 The Genttcmaris Magazine.

THE CAROL OF THE SIVALLOli

From the Grf.k.k.

SHE is come, she is come ! the Swallow,
With the white breast and the black wing,
I-'air days to bring,
Willi the fair spring
To follow !

Roll us out, roll us out, we hopl
Each from his plenteous store,
Pasties and bowk of wine,
And baskets full of cheese,
And wheaten bread so fine,
And pulse bread too, to please
_ The Swallow.

Say, masters, must we go,

Or shall wc something get ?
" Give and get thanks," you know :

1 1 r else we will not let,
Hut pull the door from off the ;
Or take the lintel tree,
Or carry hence the wife that sits within.
For she is light, and wc
Can lift her easily.

If gain shall us befall,

Great gain to you shall follow :

(Open ! open the door !)
Wc are but children small
And not old men at all.
Open! Opes, for
The welcome of the Swallow I

WILLIAM M. IIARIMN'i

>3i

TABLE TALK.

A LITTLE book has been recently published to instruct society
how to talk, not " Table Talk," but " Small-Talk." If a book
ould have been brought out to persuade society how not to do it, it
appears to me, it would have been much more acceptable ; but let
be thankful for what we have. It is very funny to see the
nous platitudes of conventional people in all tin- honours of paper

print. How anybody — even "a Member of the Aristc .
the authoress styles herself— could have persuaded herself to
itc them down, is a marvel, and puts the practice of breaking
jtterflies on wheels quite into the shade. She goes into the proper
pronunciation of these lath-and-plastcr phrases with a seriousness
that rises to humour. The abbreviation of " How do you do ? " into
" How d'y do ? " at a morning call is, we arc assured, " rather in bad
stc than not. " The salutation of " How do you do ? " should
'simply be regarded as a salutation only, and not as a personal
after die health of the individual to whom it is addressed,
the health of either visitor or hostess is discussed, inquired
r, or sympathised with, it should not be referred to on the first
ltrancc of the visitor, but later on when the ladies are seated."
lives and learns, and this is really news to me. That "How
you do?" should "be uttered light and smoothly, neither of the
>rds " (the " Member of Uic Aristocracy," by the way, should surely
»vc written "lightly" instead of "light," and "none" instead of
'neither") "being in any way accented," is doubtless true ; but it
not be so wanting in accentuation as to mean nothing at all.
ter once asking how your friend is, it is incredible that you should
again, as though you were his medical man, with " How's
our heart ? " or " How's your liver ? "
The chapter on " What to say at morning calls " is lovely, and
Uy accounts to my mind for the circumstance that no sensible man
ever be induced to make a morning call. The object, it ap-
s, of the conversationalist is solely to keep the ball of sm.nl I -talk-
without the least reference to its having an interest for any
being. "The query" of " Where have you been staying?

632

The Gentleman s Magazine,

is 1

tin
du
tea

wc are told, " would offer .nn 1 ity for much information and

explanation " l-tafls vrould take some such line as this: —

"We have 1» inter at Brighton: I always think

it is a good plan to go to the sea in November ; town is so drear)1 then,
and the sunny mornings at the sen are so invigorating and cbeet

"Yes : ii i- '.cry enjoyi I in autumn ; the fall of the

leal is " >! '-pressing In Ihc country, a ne rcalisct the approach ol
winter so painfully."

" Si his will carry on both ladies for a quarter of an

hour at lead both pleasantry and agreeably.'*

There arc other things that arc " depressing " besides the fall of
the leaf ; and it really seems to me that a conversation of this kind
is calculated to drive any reasonable being into a lunatic asylum.
The hints of the '• Member of the Aristocracy " arc not, however, all
this kind, which may be said to be shallow rather than sparklin
times she grows mysterious to the last degree. " If tea is bfOttj

the hostess will probably say, ' May 1
tea?' or 'Will yon have tome tea?' But she will not say, 'Will you take
.1 cull of tea?'" Goodb why not? I place my chin on my

hands, and my elbows on the table — my favourite attitude for
reflection— and endeavour to think this out Why on earth should she
. , "Will you take a cup of tea?" The " Member of the Aristo-
urs subsequently to explain to US, that drinking tea
at a morning call (though not the conversation indulged in

.ipoitant and immaterial a matte:. ision

should be tag it." But with fretful persistence 1

find my ..king myself, why .y, " Will you have some

tea?" and. .'say, " Will you take a cup of tea?" This, I

nne of those mysteries of Good Society which cannot
plained, and irl ood by those alone who arc fitted

for it, will always be caviare to the multitude.

The examples of "Table Talk" at dinners thou! nda

place in the culumns of Sylvanus Urban ; but I confess thai
elude me: as I try to extract them they slip I: 1 isp, like

ii the hand. If people really talked so at dinner, I si
always dine at home.

" 1 was in the Park this afternoon ; it was very full."
" I suppose so. I was at two afternoon parties (Heavens !) and
only took one I ate,"

ire very many afternoon parties going
I hare ons for to-morrow 1 II), but I do nut think I

shall go to any of tli'

Table Talk.

633

1*
to

" Shall you not ? Do you dislike afternoon parties so much ? I
wonder why men do dislike them so?"

Imagine her wondering '. If afternoon " parties " really talk as

a " Member of the Aristocracy " describes them to do, I had rather

make one at 3 conversazione .it Colney Hatch. This sort of talk

remind* one of Byron's description of Castlereagh's speeches : "one

weak, washy, everlasting flood." The " Ball-room talk ' is, if possible,

worse. If it is an ac< urate representation of what takes place in

real life, I do not wonder at girls saying the fast things that are so

much complained of, or at men saying anything. After a quarter of

an hour of it, I should not be responsible for my actions, much less

for my conversation. The " Racecourse small-talk," as adapted for

ladies, docs not strike one as being so vapid, because, I suppose, the

pics arc not so familiar; but the chapter called " Running on," with

which this admirable work concludes, is really the ne plus ultra of

commonplace and platitude. There is, however, one really sensible

observation in the book. " In common parlance, a man is always a

to a man, and never a gentleman. " This is a fact which men

it of Society, or who have got into it late in life, never seem to

hend. They always say "a gentleman," or " a gentleman, a

fciend of mine," which is only one degree worse than leaving out

their h's. On the other hand, the " Member of the Aristocracy "

rather astonishes me when she says, a lady would say, " I expect two

ot three men to dinner," but she would not say, " I expect two or

three gentlemen to dine with us." 1 must confess I think that lady

raihrr -; f.-.si "

Upon the whole, this social hand-book is very noteworthy; not
from fa unconscious humour, but from its intended seriousness. Its
publication is an evidence that there arc people in the world, and
it lirgc, whose intelligence is not equal even to making such " small-
talk" as th:it with which it supplies them. Whether it is a benevolent
*ct to encourage such twaddle is another matter. W'c have all had to
listen to it at one time or another, I suppose ; but to read it in print,
in cold blood, and in the fresh air, has a very curious effect: it pro-
cure:, that sort of vertigo which 1 should imagine a man might
experience who, when perfectly sober, endeavours to recall his
Knsations whcn he was drunk.

IF the news that has recently reached us from France is true, it
seems that Nature is taking part with the advocates of teetotal -
id is commencing to remove from men of highest cultivation
">* temptation to drink. I have listened hitherto to the medical

634

The Genllemaris Magazine.

dogmatism of lo-day, which forbids the use of alcohol, with as
calm as previously I listened to Out of yesterday, which insisted upoo
\<>w, in presence of the news from Mnkc, I fret
something like Macbeth when, to the messenger bringing news of the
movement of Hirnam Wood, he said —
" Q

' ■ -< nig J.liw,

<*ch be tooth,
I cire not if thou doit for me x% mucli."

If the wines of Medoc arc destroyed, as seems likely to be the caac,
I care not how soon they make a teetotaller of me. So far, I ha»c
ildwil austhat -win. \iik of old men.' it

never, to answer this description ripe generous win

urgundy, of the Rhone, or of Medoc, and on these it now seem
the phylloxera has settled. I was in the district of M cdoc so recently
as August last, and though I then heard dole! ;>ations con-

cerning the coming crops, no word of the visit of the phylloxera
reached my ears. Now, however, its arrival is ann seel

having been found at Chateau I-alandc and Calon-Segur, ami
existence having been suspected in the two noble vineyards of
tciui Loflte ■ad Cm (TEstouraeL The wine i Chateau

1-alande is counted among the bourgeois trtis, but that it Caloo-
Segur has disiim : vahie, being a troisitme crti. It l>clongs to the
same commune- itephe— as Coo rncl, which is a

".//<■«<• crv\ while Chateau I.utite divides, as everyone km.
with Chiiteau Margaux the honour of being the king of Bordeaux

ICS. So rapid is, however, the spread of the phylloxera, I
there is i >n to fear a year or two may .s bad a

I regaidi her vines u arc the finest districts of Burgundy and
the South Rhone. Six I>r. Richardson .-nd

far ]>eyond 1 ■ d will make itself felt wherever UH>

prevail*. What is to be done is hard to say. N'o rcu>. m of

much effect, and the attempt frequently made in the district* rv

to introduce American vines is a dead failure
I wonder if it would be possible to recommence the growth of the

iq and bring it once more from Asia, whcn< t . by

the Phankians into (".recce, it found its way into Fr.

SO profound ignorance
lppUed to t'c*

blunders of speech. On \Jv • t«s»wwb,\. k is oo- .

Tabic Talk.

635

Claret, i doe all used as though they denoted some-

thing different. Medoc is the name of a district in France. It i:; .1
peninsula in the shape of a cone, the base of which extends from the
basin of Arcachon almost to Bordeaux, while the two sides are
washed respectively by the Atlantic and the river Gironde, and the
extreme point is the Pointe dc Grave. It is the extremity of the
district known as Les Landcs. Here is grown almost the whole of
the fine wines which in England pass by the name of Claret— a
name never used for such purpose in France. It has a light gravelly
• stony soil, exactly suited to the vine, the roots of which penetrate
an extraordinary depth. The soil of the famous vineyard of
bateau Morgan* consists of little else except pebbles. In speaking
Me'doc wine, then, you include the four highest-class wines —
itcau Lafitc, Chateau Chateau Latour, and Chateau

at-Brion — with scores of vintages scarcely less renowned, like
outon, the Lcovilles, Gruaud-Laroie, Pichon-Longueville, Cos
ourncl, Chateau Beychcvelle, Pontet-Canet, &c. &c. English-
then, should remember that the term Me'doc is scarcely lea
than that of Bordeaux, the former being taken from the
rict in which the wine is grown, the latter from the place of ship-
Subdivisions follow, and are taken from the different com-
as Barsac, Branne, Cantenac, Margaux, Pauillac, Saint-
nflion, Saiot'Estephe, Sautemes, and so forth. A further sub-
on is of course afforded by the individual vineyard. A Le'oville-
, or a Mouton, formerly called a Branne Mouton, is thus, first,
1 de Bordeaux, as the French would call it, or a Claret, as, from
on of colour, we term it in England. It is next, from the district,
ioc, or vin de Medoc. It might also be called a Pauillac, from
(canton in which it is; then, from the commune, it is a Saint-Julien
tRdgnac. Lastly, it has its special name. When first Englishmen
(0 drinking a claret that cost less than ten shillings a bottle,
in my youth was asked at every hotel, the hotclkeeper intro-
1 a cheaper wine, which received the generic name of Saint-Julien,
{as much entitled, in the majority of instances, to be so called
to be styled I-alcrnian. Again and again I have heard, in youth,
■question. What wine will you take — port, sherry, or Saint-Julien?
bus one of the noblest of wines came to stand for the thinnest, and
ea the sourest, of Clarets. To this day a prejudice exists against
w in consequence of the misuse of terms.

'F anything were necessary to demonstrate the impossibility of
constructing a truly automatic chess-player, it would be found

636 The. Gentleman's Magazine.

in the recent construction of an automatic tit-tat-to for,

simple as is the game of tit-tat-to (by some known more familiarly
as "noughts and crosses"), the mechanism by which Mr. Freekti
of the Pennsylvania 1 nivi ratty hi Miccccdcd in providing
requirement! of automatic ttt-tat-to ol by any means

simple. A ■• everyone know*, the game of noughts and crosses is a
sure one, the lin,' oi pji second player to draw being very

simple, as are ttl* all the methods by which cither player can take
advantage of erroneous play There is, indeed, no simpler game
chance. Babbagei lirst to mention that an automatic I

player might be constructed ; though I believe he did not describe
any actual plan ■ ■ certainly he docs not in his "Life of a Philosoph
where only («> far .is 1 know) he refers to such machines. Mr. PI
lani! instructed during the summer of 1878, and

hibitcd at the Franklin Institute, October 16, 1878. It is now at
the University of Pennsylvania, where, since its final adjustment
has played a large number of games without losing one. The r>
automaton to which Mr. Freeland might devol
does not consider that he has already given enough time to
very profitable department of pn echanics, shook) l>c one to

play the game known as "The Devil among the Tailors," in wfe
four men, played as at draughts. 1 ison one, abo played

as at draughts, but free to move either backwards 01
game, like tii one, the I

correct play, though some care ire the devil's

pmonment. An automaton for bis game would be a costly

and troublesome affair, however; an automaton draught-player would
tx practicall] while no one who understands anything

about 1 best would dream of the possibility that that king of games
could be played by lay mere machine.

I WAS noticing a short time since some singular instances of 1
apprehension. To these I may add one to which my al
has recently been drawn. The 1 in had for cowardice u

II known, as also his special contempt for the co<
Touchc Treville. La Touche knev. -.> ably well, and though

(or perhaps 1 n he had ventured to boa1'

chase to the whole British flee' 1 $04 (on «

iti realitj , with four ships of t

Re. ii, who had rcconn-

/«s Ama&tt only), he was in a state of mon

i he time he conuv «,«*»

Table Talk.

637

have died of fright. The Fiend papal which announced his death

said, half in jest, half in bitterness, that he died in consequence of

walking so often up to the signal-post upon Scpct, to watch the

British fleet. This was Nelson's opinion also. Two months before,

NeUon had written of I .a Tou< he, " From the lime Of his meeting

Captain Hawker in the fris, I never heard of his acting otherwise

than as a poltroon and a liar : contempt is the best mode ot treating

such a miscreant." Am! in a letter to his brother, " You have seen

If, La Toochc's letter of how he chased me. and how I ran. I keep

it, and, by God I if 1 take him he shall cat it !" When he heard of

La Touche's death, and of the French newspapers' comments thereon,

D said. " I always pronounced that would be his death. If he

hid come out and fought me, it would have added at least ten year*

to hi* life." In some editions of Southcy's " Life of Nelson," and

notably in the latest and excellent edition by Mr. Mullins. of Marl-

borou: ii is positively made to say, ,; If I .a Touche had come

t and fought me. it would have added at least ten years to my

ft" Apart from the ruined jest, imagine Nelson, who always ex-

d and hoped to die in battle, talking as if his length of life could

in any way depend on the doings of such a man M [4 Touche. In

pining, it may be remarked that Nelson's hatred and contempt of

all Frenchmen were not quite such COflUneodable features of his

character as Southey seems to have thought them. Hut in Nelson's

time (and Southcy's) there was for most Englishmen an unwritten

eleventh commandment — " Thou shall hate a Frenchman as thou

hitest Satan."

ANEW Bpede> of imposture hu risen up amongst us, which
among nervous folk with tender hearts is likely to 1»
till. My front-door bell was rung the other day by two ladies, who
aked to see the master of the house. Heing a bachelor, I was
naturally alarmed; but trusting to the safety of numbers, I presented
royjclf before them. One was sitting in my best arm-chair, with a
look of considerable anxiety and uneasiness, but the other was stand-
, and at once addressed me with great eloquence: "The con-
dition of my friend Mrs. Jones, yonder, I am sure will require no
ncuse for an intrusion <m any gentleman, even though he were
not so well and widely known for his benevolence and kindness of
heart as yourself. -She has been in the state in which you sec her
now— I need not say. a critical one — for the last six hours, and she is
; -.terry unable to move another step I " A groan from the lady in
the chair here afforded corroborative testimony to this remark, and

638

The Gentleman's Magazine.

alarmed me very much, though I was still in ignorance as to the
precise nature <>i her nil

conn' roroan, " I wash ray hand luencc*,

which, if you refuse to assist her, will certainly lie ■

"Bat I
house

"A doctor, no!" echoed she contemptuous!;,
hope, a human being. You have surely soiru
creatures, and tin ngs of maternity can hardly apjxral to yoo

in vain ' "

Here .mother groan fiom the arm-chair smothi
of her sentence, and suffused me at the same tin-
spiration. "Good Heave. " I cried, "what is it 1 u itodo?"

" You arc a subscrilier to the Maternity Hospital, I believe. No ?
Well, then, you can, at all events, Income one for a five-pouni:

" Really, Madam, i don't feel colli >l upon— at least, to thai
ple-i itly.

"Not called upoal" she shri ■>. Julia?" and

Julia groaned again in significfltion that she did hear him, but that in
two minutes, or three at most, b ties would fail her for good

and all. That I was " pon" was i

question was, how to get rid of my callers. My eye wandered in
melancholy pern II ; I thought of ringing for my house-

nncl, and whatever might be wanted. Fortunately,
raj penecatrix mistook my glance, and concluded that I was goir
send for the police.

" If you won't subscribe to the Maternity Hos[
observed, "you will at least defray— though 1 nfc what

tn Julia in such a vehicle— the expense of a four-wheeled
cab?"

" I'll send for one at once, Mada

'• No " she interrupted firmly, " Julia will make an crToi
will give me the fare -it is but thrcc-and-sixpence— wc will wall
the cabstand."

I gave hei two half h jicrhaiw the pcrtui

mind pn r from observing wi ban the sum she I

den,
tran
rather a groan

"I I
cabstand

lull, while l

Teile Talk.

639

.1 all my former apprehensions, but
tally they crossed the threshold. I sent the page- after then
lite sure that they reached the cabstand in safety; bathe
returned with thi bat they only got 1

M Ihe rteU door but one ; where they rang the bell, and no doubt
repe.i 'ce.

IT is, of course, UDI those who live in large centres of

population to expect the quietude and repose which 1
be found in rural districts, and not alwayi there. Still, th
need why such checks as the law allows should not be enforced with
regard to unnecessary noise \ persistent attempt is now h
made to rc-introo Mention back «

suppressed as intolerable ; and peripatetic vendors of various m
enter upon a rivalry as to which shall summon the Consumer! by ihe
more strident or discordant sour Id to this that the use of bells

is rapidly augmenting, and that, in addition to the " muffin man," we
now have half-a-dozen different traders making clamorous the less-
frequented streets and son for combination on the
part of the opponents of unnecessary noise is afforded. No improve-
Erected without Irerrneni n of arguments, l re-
assert, accordingly, that the sounds which, heard .11 a distance

rare Intervals in the country, are the most poetical and attractive, are,

onst.intly repeated close at hand, the most
some, and depressing. I could draw a moving picture of the modem
resident in ighboufaood, with a Ritualistic church on one

side and a popular tavern on the other, with possibly 8 vacant space
near at hand which ll used fa the practice of Ac bom, on which
somewise." 1 trate has insisted as indispensable in bicyi

Though averse Irom societies generally— which, commencing with
lent mo:: ! ope in their progress strong tendeni 1

ition — 1 thi 1 keep in check that development and

on of street noises'. atenstomake life in dtii

0 the man of nervous organisation is strongly to I

B!DK tlic labour involved in cutt::
that of making a passage through the Isthnv
L*orinth set 'ern Her.

portani exploits
while i ForGree ag out

of a sea route from Athens to Corinth and to the Adriatic, vAnnsAv
M. dc Lesscps now contemplates, is a matte* crt cwwvs. \\v^*v»sks-

640 The GcntUmoMS Magaxau.

It may alto alter the direction of nodi Engirt traffic One of the
tint results anticipated it to be a peat increase in the importance of
Corinth. " It i» not allotted to every nan to go to Corinth" m the
reflection of Horace, in the dap when that city was the headquarters
of luxury and taste. Could the Venusian. as poor Har.aay loved
call him, come back to earth, he would find dux everything was being
done to facilitate that cosdy and seductive journey.

FEW " signs of the times " are more curious than the present
movement for the reconciliation of the Church and the Stage.
When bishops are found preaching 'and actresses lecturing before
congresses upon the degradation of the stage and the means to be
taken to reform and purify it, the old complaint that the stage was
reed from the intellectual life of the day drops to the ground
The fact is that, putting aside all question of the drama, and looking
solely at the histrionic aspect, the stage has made during the last
decade an enormous stride in advance It can no longer be I
that wc are shamefully behind other nations, that our comedy
buffoonery and our tragedy rant, or that a dramatic performance is
a mere struggle for precedency on the part of those who sacrifice
to |'i'tty vanity all notions of an. I have seen during : .car

hi London performances which, as regards tnitmbit, were
peril it is no longer remarka! uen

oft The attempted

combination between the C

ever, In whatever light it i» regarded. I i ltun: or

art, 1 hi to stand by itself. W; led

by the hanging committee of the Royal Academy to decide as to
what pictures shall be acre; them to

dclibcMte upon theatrical prodi.'

who meddles; whh stage matters, influence

the choke of a piece, or the conditions attend -Suction,

11 the mi
1. of the si igc,

to be regretted If ll

arts, ftwaj

1 '. ibun lantly pro\

■
irated by Ingoldsby, " Nobod) pi ,c"

THE

GENTLEMAN'S n IAGAZI N E.

Decemuer 1879.
UNDER WHICH LORD?

■V E. LYHM LINTON*.

Chapter XXXIV.

QUENCHED.

A CHANGE WIS gradually creeping over things at the Abbey ;
and as the time wore on the relations between Edith Everett
and Hcmiionc cnteied on a new and unpleasant phase. Subtle,
secret, like a venomous Might that burns unseen, this change was of
the kind when those who fed aggrieved cannot seize one salient point
of offence, cannot halt at the moment when nor challenge the reason
why. But there it was ; and Hermione was conscious of covert
insolence and thinly-veiled tyranny, which she had neither the
courage to resent nor was given the opportunity to resist. She longed
;ii of ii'-r guest, who seemed to have taken up her permanent
abode at the Abbey. But the good breeding of a gentlewoman forbade
her to say crudely, Go ; and so long as it suited her purpose, it was
very evident that Mrs. Everett would continue to stay, and not
trouble herself cither about the length of her visit or her manners as
:or.
The danger of conjugal backsliding passed, it was unnecessary to
watch llcmiione asin the beginning ; and Edith, to whom dry-nursing,
as she once said to Superior, was especially distasteful, was once
more free to live her own life. As her own cleverness had delivered
her from her task, she thought herself privileged to profit by her
liberty ; and she did not stint herself. In some incomprehensible
iie was always with Superior, and llirmionc was not Even
irhen the pretty woman's turn came round, and the business of her
X, to which she was kept close, demanded a conference,

CCXLV. NO. 17SS. 1 t

—

642 The Genllemei igazine,

then Edith stood be anas the careful guardian of apjieatanca

and picked her traditional gooseb ith bland fidelity. Saw ai

confession— v. rather meagre and unex-

citing of late ' suffered to be alone with Mr. l-iscellcs ;

and more than OBCC lie liad been plainly admonished by Edith as to
the need of greater caution in her manners and actions, with hi
not always gentle, of secret proclivities to be carefully repressed.

" Fot you know, dear," slve said one morning, when they were
silting together in the Abbey drawing-room — Hcnnione embroider-
ing, Edith Illuminating " a lie cannot be tc«-
and though Su|k n ntoriout
and peopli ore •" wicked! They will be nine to talk if you goto
much to the Vicarage as you do, and are not moreindihv net
manners to Superior,"

" No one could be so wicked as to talk of me in that v
Hemiione hurriedly. " Every one knew how much 1 loved poor dear
ml. and how I nearly broke mj heart because he would be an
infidel. Besides I am not a girl now— forty next birthday ! "

" Yes, of course forty is forty ; and a woman of that t be

a downright fool if she cannot take care of herself. But then you
sec sonic women arc downright fools. Not that I mean you, di

:li Ereretl •.-. ith an odd smile; "but you arc not always
guarded' rays, and yon mi t yourself talked

about ; and then think what a scandal it would be ! You really are
quite good-looking still, and sometimes don't look above thfl I
or -eight, I assure you. Superior B day how wonder:

l you wore ; but then lie thinks you rati you say yon

are. Are you realty under forty, dear ? At any rate, * .jot

age, you are wonderfully well-preserved and at times look extremely
. And then, you sec, Superior is not an old man, and every one
t allow he is a very handsome 01 1 i.les, although he I
Itj he is peril- Inciting to some women," she went on to

in her smootli, art)
grate on Hcmiio:i '.'en made up of

rusty iron rods. '.ell you such stori

have h -quite too disgraceful alloget

" I do not sec what that has to do with m i (crmionc

a sudden tlu'h. ''I an not an avc

committ'

>, dear, I do not say you liave ; but you n
uded your busbar, u <-nmc 11

e, 1 /joking

Under which Lord? 643

enough here to get ftM into trouble unless you are very car-lr.l.
You i: 1 lennione, be more particular now than when

Mr. Kullerton w:i< living with you. A husband is such a shield,
even when the wife is light and people are disposed to be ill-
natured ! Hut you sec you have deprived yourself of this defence,
and now you must mind what you are alwut with every one — but
II] with Superior."

It seems odd that you should say all this, Edith, when you were
the most earnest in the matter," *aid Ilcnnione, opening net blue
eyes very wide,

Say all what, dear?— that you should be careful of your conduct
now that you have discarded your husband and are a separated
wife?"

th- **

1 No ; but to (peak in that tone, as if I had done something
wrong," (aid 1 lennione. "To discard one's husband — to be a
separated wife — what horrid expressions ! They are scarcely proper,
Edith ; they certainly an.- not ladylike !"

i: ! I sec you like periphrases, and f don't," replied Edith

non
and
add
her u
and !

rote

sec you like periphrases, and I don't," replied Edith

calmly. "Spades should always be spades, my dear ; and when a

woman 'chassis' her husband, no matter what the cause, she is

[>»c the less a separated wife. What a little goose it is! — Honey

»d butter : nothing Mrongir or i.harpcr than honey and butter !" she

added with a careless smile, gbuni iag at the clock and putting down

her brush. '"Will you send for me to the Vicarage at one o'clock?

shall I bring back Superior with roe?" she then asked as she

irom her seal.

"Are you going out now? You were away all yesterday ! " (aid
Hcrmione, colouring with displeasure.
"Superior wants me," said Edith.

" You are always at the Vicarage ! " cried Hcrmione petulantly.
" I am sure if |>eople were inclined to talk of .Superior with any one
it would not be with me, Edith 1 "

•' You mean they would with me ? I dare say," said the guide and
friend tranquilly. " Hut then you see I am free, and you are not.
That makes all the difference. If Superior and I were in love with
each other there would be nothing to prevent our marrying, except-
ing our principles about a celibate priesthood. But these would
prevent our falling in love in the first instance. And the world
understands this. It is quite another matter with you. And the
tiral result is— 1 can do things which you must not."
"So it seems," said I krmionc, crisping her small lip*.
" Besides, I am of real use," continued Edith in a lounging kind

ttj

644 The Gen Neman's Magasine.

of a way. " I can add tip his accounts and keep t \ 1 book* in

order, and all that ; and you know, dear, you arc not
line," with a little laugh.

"Why do you nuke all these apologies, dear rocd Her

mSotoc with a rapid change of front " If I am old enough to take
care of myself I am 9 ire too; and it can . roc

whether yOB go to the Vicarage every hour of the day or not I have
iiy to do at home, and of course I do not want you to feci tk
or that I am responsible for your act:
1 if course not ; I know all that, dear," replied her friend. "So,
good-bye. Do not expect dm home before dinner then, on]

id the carriage for me and Superior to come back lo Itnu boon By
the way, won't you come for me yourself? " — graciously, as if giving
an invitation.

" No, I should be in your way," - agreeably.

" Think so ? Please yourself, dear," answei
*' No, I keep away to p 1," retorted Hermit

"Why? How silly of you ! I am sure Superior would be glad
to see you. 1 know you are quite a favourite Ol d Edith

with a little insolence. " However, do as you like, dear; I must go
ill events. Au rtwir, Little womai
mode a French a
from the room with the satisfied feeling of the duellist who
.n the first hlood.

M She is perfectly odious I I must get rid of her \ I will tell
Superior that I will not keep her any longer! insole. hi"

were Ik-rmione's passionate thoughts so soon as her friend had
closed the door. "She is of no use to me; nunc in the tea
she leaves me .ill day alone, and is staying only to flirt .
Superior. How can he ! a plain thing like that — with her small
ferret eyes and insignificant nose, and that hideous upper lip ! I
thought he had more taste. Poor Richard saw thro
first, and hated her ! And I am sure I do not sronder at «L !
I" rtaved in the most insolent way to him, and now she is heginn
the same kind of thing to me. But I will not bear it I and will |
Superior of her. It is too bad, and when I am so miserable and
lonely. I leaf Rii bard ! my poor Virginia ! "

The indignant tears which into the big I 1

from an^ .pity, and Hermic aly rcali.

her full loss turn downward to the sola cuihi

sobbed aloud.

Ah. ■■ mens on 1 hm

Under which Lord : 645

deep sense of disappointment in the Paradise to Which her Act of
Sacrifice was to be the gateway —ami now, the dawning perception of
ingratitude as the reward of her abject submission. It was a bitter
moment for her ; and yet she had not fathomed half the possibilities
of cruelty in a woman like Edith Everett, or a man like Mr. Lascellcs ;
both strong-willed and unscrupulous— the one devoted to a cai
which had for its object the subjugation of humanity, the other to
making her own way clear through the brake ; and both indiffen .nt
as to the means by which they should gain their ends.

Like all his kind, using his pcrson&l graces to excite the love of
those women who would be useful to the Church, Mr. lascellcs
never faltered because of the sorrow to come, when, having given all
that they had to give, he should throw them aside as no longer of
use. When they had done their work they were as dead to him as
seeded plants, and he thrust them back that their place might be
takeu by the fruit-bearing members as yet ungarnercd. He did not
care to spend his strength in ornamental attentions. Life lies before
us, not behind, he once said ; and when things are done with it is a
man's duty to go past them and press forward to new duties. This
was just what he was gradually doing with Hermione Fullerton. Now
that the contest was over between himself and her husband, and he
declared victor at every point ; now that he was sure of getting all he
wanted in the way of money for his own parish and the ragged
congregations of hi) friends ; now that the Abbey was a kind of
hostelry for him, where he could invite whom he would, and which
he could use as his own private property ; now that Hermione was
committed too deeply to retract ; — he was glad to give up the close
attention and dangerous spiritual flirtation by which he had accom-
•hed his purpose. It was the repose of conquest, the security of
possession, and thus left him free for fresh exertion — specially for that
most important of all, the coming contest with Ringrove Hvditty.
Also, it was only wise, as Edith Everett suggested, to be very much
on his guard, and, while giving Hermione nothing of which to
complain, to be careful not to give the world anything of which it
could lake hold. Hence the same kind of subtle change crept into
his relations with the pretty woman as already existed in those
between lu r and Edith. He saw very little of her at all, and never
alone ; and he made her understand, at first with regret but now
with resignation, that he must be careful for her sake, and she
submissive to restrictions for his. The less she was seen at the
Vicarage, or he at the Abbey, the better ; the more she was among
the sick, at the 1 Iomc, the schools, the women's meetings, without

646 The Geritfcmaris Magazine.

liini, the better still. The roaring lion of calurr ■ find no M

l Ire- in the defence set up by prudence round her good name and
his; and though as she well knew, he said with suggestive tcndcrscM
and well-defined sorrow at the stern necessities of things, no soul
given to them by Our Lord was so precious in his sight as hcr» — yet,
that wisdom of the serpent ! Compared with it, the innocence of
dove was nowli

With Mrs. Everett, of whom Hennione now spoke with sudden
bitter self-betraying jealousy, things were different. No on.

1 l:e Bitten with her, he said, looking at Hcrmionc with ui 1
guiscd admiration in his eyes, and spcakiii. Everett with fine

contempt for her womanly ed in his voice. And

mione wis reassured and her fears s at least for this

time. 1 bo need to quiet bis own feats- He had none,

th him was distinctively :. and he wished

nothing altered. He did not make love to her, nor she to him — at
least, not of that open fulsome kind in use at Crocdi was

the one woman whom he could trust to carry out I without

that wily exaggeration which was so fatally comprommng to hint, and
who could translate even his silence according to its
was astute, quiet, prompt ; the most valuable coadjutor in the world,
and he was more dependent on her than he knew. She was quite oa
helpful to him as his sister had been, and he was as m rase

with her. Wherefore she was welcome at the Vicarage at any hour,
because she was always practical and useful ; and while slowly yield-
ing to her influence Mr. I jscellcs was congratulating himself on the
possession of a friend— a dear sister in the Church — on whom he
could rely as on a second self, without the necessity of godly (lattery
or crafty love-making.

If the cleverest man in the world is not as helpless a
when the right kind of woman, who knows Ikiw he ought to be
managed, takes him in hand — and manages hi::

Poor Theresa had also been shunted in these changeful later
lime ever been more real love for h

Hcrmione, though the vicar had so often simulated tl
signs to both. With Hcrmionc it ii

good and gain to the Church in the destruction Q< 'del

husband; with Theresa, professional xeai rta bad

been mixed op with the psychological curiosil -i takes a n

tempt a woman to love rial

ge ot human ua.t\ue
vivfor?>oti cause no ■ -*."«*&'

Under which Lord? 647

said or done to both had been the establishment of Ritualism here in
Protestant Crossholmc; and now, when the Ritualistic Church was
established four-square, and apparently not to be shaken, he was
released from further trouble.

Besides, things had got too hot with Theresa to make a
continuance of any show of personal interest — even of his private
ministration— advisable. Wherefore he had, for some time now,
given up to Brotln 1 Swinfen — who was no spiritual philanderer even
for the sake of the Church — the daily attendance proper to her state ;
alleging n his excuse the multiplicity and importance of his occupa-
tions, and the impossibility of the putOX of a Hock devoting so much
time to one, even though that one was sick unto death.

This also was the effect of Edith Everett's clever manipulation.
She had the art of suggesting a course of conduct by assuming that
Superior had already determined on it, and praising him with decent
warmth for his wisdom and common sense; but indeed there was no
other way, she would say, as he had evidently seen. Hence it was
that by her advice, conveyed as commendation, he had yielded the
daily care of Theresa to the Brother, reserving to himself only special
occasions and the more sacred offices.

Meanwhile Hcrmionc, weary of the dull parish work, to which
she was held so close, without reward ; missing the flattery, the
acknowledgment of personal supremacy, which had hitherto been
h full measure ; missing too the excitement of opposition
to Ik.- bosband which had been a factor in the sum while it lasted;
and not fitted by nature to take her place as a simple member of the
congregation, of no more account in the celestial calendar than Miss
l'ryor, say, or Nanny Pearce ; — was beginning to feel tricked and
sore ; and Theresa's last day was drawing on apace.

The dying girl was making a hard fight of it. It was beyond
pathos — it was terrifying, awful — to watch her fierce struggle for life,
the passionate tenacity with which she clung to hope, her angry
refusal to recognise her clanger, her rebellious determination to
contest ever)' inch of the way, and to live, whether it was Cod's
decree that she should die or no. It was as if her will was stronger
than disease; as if she lived because she would not die. But at last
she was conquered. All her desire of life, all the feverish love for
Superior which had been such an overwhelming passion, had to give
way before the one great King. The last strand was frayed to the
brcaking-[»oint, and the sands of the hour-glass had nearly run out.
Then, and then only, she accepted the terrible truth, and confessed
that this was Death.

648

The Gentlem

Hermionc had se of hi-r 0 t ior had

mated that he wished Mrs. Folterton to > as l»cr

special i ire, and a strong symp tng up bel cm

during these last weeks, vi ry unlike the mutual jealousies and
pretensions of the earlier days. Now they were l»th in the same
position— practically nl I by the man to whom they had sacri-

ficed, the one her I ihcr her li:

If Hermionc had not yet fully confessed to herself Low ihi
were going, Theresa bad the i n of the dying to whom

further deception is unnecessary, and who see the truth sharply cut
and without disguise But up to now she Iiad lield her peace and
kept faithful to the man whom she loved. Now however the
moment had conic when she bad done with life and all that life
means ; when weakness had i onqucrcd resolution, and ) had

at last yielded to the terrors and conviction of hi

She was lying there, gasping painfull;
on her. All day long there had been an unwhoh-
about her bed ; B coming and going of priests an< ; a per-

petual succession of religious offices, of prayers

It Celebration ; extreme unction ; the cm-
to kiss ; the spiritual presence of all the PcAOMgca in Ihc

Christian draa ted as an incontestable fad which .she «ro

coon i 'i ber infinitely mischiei -md

orbing, hurtful to the peace of the passing hour and ranking the
agony still more terrible than need be tents which the do*

from Starton had vainly tried to check. Now things were qui<
The doctor had gone ; he was wanted elsewhere. Here he was of no
more use ; he had done all that he could, and that all wan substJ
ally nothing ; there he might save life. He pressed bcf hand for the
last time ; said a few words of honest, nu I
passed her last earthly hope.

Brother Swinfcn also had left her for a time ; it was his
private J i>n,and a man must attend

soul though occupied in trying to save anoi i the

room save Aunt Catherine. Prusilla, the faithful, foolisl
Eienniooe. The evening v> igon. Would

the night ? She had always been at the worst i
would be a hard time for her now.

All knew Serine, who n

cheerfulness, and !car

saints would conn r so that ' uld In swift and

rocsaa COM

I 'tufer which Lord?

649

'•So faithful as she is she must pass into glory," said the weak-
brained creature, thinking of the picture when Saint Catherine is
carried up to heaven by angels, and sincerely believing that this would
be Theresa's experience — as in time her own.

Too weary to care much about men or angels, just living and no
more, Theresa lay with half-closed filmy eyes and pinched mouth,
breathing hard and heavily. All was still ; that heavy breathing the
only sound which broke through the silence of the death-chamber.
Feebly she motioned to Hermione to take her hand, and made a
sign for water to moisten her lips.

"Trite CRN Of Mrs. Everett," she then said in a hoarse whisper,
and with difficulty ; " >he is not your friend ; has not been mini' ; is
here for no good ; Superior will marry her."

.She closed her eyes again as she said this, and seemed for a while
to done. Suddenly she opened them wide and started. The filmy
glaze that had been over them before seemed to be withdrawn, and
they blazed out as if a fire were behind.

end for him ! send for him ! " she said in a wild unnatural
Toicc. '• I cannot die till he comes. He must bless and pardon
roe."

" Dearest, you have already been pardoned. He gave you
absolution and the Blessed Sacrament this morning. Don't you
remember, dear ? You are waiting only for heaven — you arc sure of
Nation," said Hcrmione's soft voice tenderly.

■ No, no ! send for him ! I am in the torments of hell already ! "
ied Theresa again, passionately beating the air and plucking at the
bedclothes. " I cannot die like this. He must release me ! "

Pray to the dear saints, my darling ! " said Aunt Catherine.
The dear saints will hear you I "

"We had better do as she wishes," said Heimione ; and, writing

a slip of paper : " Pray come at once ; Theresa is in agony," she

t it off to the Vicarage at speed.

Her message found the vicar at home with Edith Everett at work

the study ; and both came back in the Abbey carriage to Church-
together.

And now began that terrible scene which occurs so often and is

seldom confessed in the horror of simple truth — the scene when

reason is extinct, when hope has died, and only spiritual fear and
*he physical agonies of death arc left. Here was no poetic eutha-
nasia— no sweet spirit leaving the body to the music of angels' harps
*nd the vision of the opening heavens, but a tortured woman writh-

in the agonies of superstitious terror, realising the wrath of the

650 The Gentleman s

God whom she imagined she had dishonoured, and believing herself
already in the power of the Devil to whom she had given herself by
rtt sin of her thoughts.

Her blackened lips drawn back from her teeth— her thin face set
into a mask of horror, terror, passion, desjM opened

wid> wiili the awful fires of.. d brain — disturbed by

unwise excitement i:i what should I I the peaceful passage

from life unto death, and rttued by all the Spiritual turmoil of the
day into a temporary spiisin of strength— she poured nut lur last
powers in the terrible delirium of her dying agony. Her love for
Superior had been idolatry, she said — a sin that was not nor could
be forgiven. Not all the power of the Church could absolve her ;
the Eternal Mercy could not reach her ; and the Evil One had
already his sharp talons in hei heart. She was going down to hell,
and her love had sent her there. When il I it liad been

to Superior- he had been her God, her Saviour, and she had wor-
shipped him instead of the Lord. She had loved him more than ha
own soul, and now she was to suffer for her sin. She bad loved him
nil she had died of he) tote, and DOW -Ik- was to be sent to eternal
torture for punishment.

"But," she said in a boa: , "you made me love you,

Superior: You made me think you loved me. 4 kissed

DM in the sacristy you took my heart out of my body an> c of

fire in me instead. I was never the same after. I thought no row
would have kissed a girl if he did not love her, and that you would
have married US after that. It was 1 sold roe to

Satan then, tad now he is claiming inc. lie is th> the foot of

the bed, waiting for me ! Save me, Hcrmione ! Aunt Catherine,
save me 1 "

She started up with superhuman strength ; beat off b
with her hands; her ghastly face, on win ell with

ngc black shadows, fixed in horror ; !
and staring ; then with one loud shriek she fell back on the

for her breathing to all appearance dead
nniona trembled and turned sick with terror. She threw
herself on her knees almost fainting and scarcely praying ; E
Everett's clever face looked blank, but her keen eyes stole one sharp
glance at Mr. Lasccllcs. Brother whose " hou.

passed and who had now stole 1. m, felt outraged

and shocked, but more on account of the scandal that would rrsult
to the Church should any word get about than because oc

Father Truscotl, he had I test'l

Under which Lord? 651

pcnsity for playing with edged tools, and he was not surprised at
what he bad just heard. But Mr. I.ascelles himself, standing there
smooth, tall, blond, priestly, suMiincly self-possessed, bent over the
dying girl with the angelic pity, the unruffled serenity of innocence.

■ My poor, poor child ! be said softly, making the sign of the
cross over her. " Theresa, do you not know me — your priest, your
Director? — These terrible deathbed hallm in.uions ! " he added, look-
ing round on the little gToup behind him with a soft, compassionate
smile

lesa's eyes opened once more. All the darkest passions of
humanity burnt in them in one last expiring flame. There was no
softness, no womanhood, no love left in her. It was hate and rage,
scorn and despair j the best already dead and only the worst left
still alive.

'• I lypocr ite ! " she said fiercely ; then her body collapsed, her
>aw dropped, and her glazed eyes turned.

Mr. Lascelles knelt and began to intone the Office for the Dying
—his voice interrupted by the stifled sobs of the women and the
hoarse death-rattle from the l>ed. By degrees this terrible sound
grew fainter and fainter, then ceased ; a few shuddering gasps— one
last deep sigh, and alt was over. Then the vicar rose from his knees,
closed the glassy eyes, and repeated in an artificial voice the pre-
scribed formula for the dead. Vcs, the was dead and he was in
a sense her murderer ; but to his own soul he was the sinless priest
who had not gone beyond his rights when he had bound this poor
victim to the horns of the altar by the compelling force of love, and
offered her as a living sacrifice acceptable to the Lord and useful to
the Church.

This last clause was doubtful. Stories got about, no one knew
how ; and the deathbed scene of Theresa Molyncux was exaggerated
with every repetition. The vicar, as one justified by the truth, met
the whole thing fairly and manfully with those whom it more
specially concerned ; and those whom it did not <■ mo. in he passed
by with the lofty disdain of conscious rectitude. He was specially
anxious that Hcrmionc should be set right, and her mind disabused
of any lingering doubt ; and at last, after some difficulty, his clever-
ness prevailed, and he succeeded in making her believe that the
poor girl's dying words had been pure delusion and that he had given
her no cause to mistake him.

"She was never more than a fragile enthusiastic kind of child to
me," he said with the finest accent of sincerity ; "and that story of
the kiss— I blush to repeat it I— was a simple hallucination— a vision

652 The Gentlcmatis hfagasine.

conjured Up by the Devil to bewilder her dying moment* and B
stumbling-block in the way of the Church. Have I ever shown
that I was this kind of man?" he added, I »ith

'• No," she answered uneasily, with a deep blush. Was tlut
"No" perfectly honest?

"Then, if not to i • ., of all women in the wot
her ! Do you not beii • G DM ? .:• Dtly.

"Yea," Baid Hem ikly hoMI

He said the some thing to Edith Eve* :scly the same

voids ; and the widow . —

'• Of course it wai all know

thai

She smiled incredulously as she spoke. Me did not feci ■
sure whether it was incredulity of the assertion made by Theresa or
the denial made by himself ; and he thought it wiser not to ask.
There is such a thing as probing loo deep.

" It is always so difficult to deal with hysterical girls ! - then
Edith quietly, as Father Truscott had said before her. " Really an
unmarried priest is placed in a very dangerous position. He n

Offc, and yet he may be brought into such trouble by
penherri

'• It is our cross," said Mr. I-ascelles, with his most sanctimonious
air;

" Yes" she answered, catching hist tone. " But the wont Of
lluit it sometimes brings so much scandal on the Church a mefl

are silly and fanciful, and have nothing better to do than dreai.
m Ives into love for the priest lit i<>»

what is best for the Church in the end

" T <m must decide," said Mr. I ascellcs enigmatically ;

and Edith Everett smiled again and said " Yes," without further
comment

world, however, was not so easy of belief as Ilermkine, nor so

dithj and the vicar's name got
rough 1 1 iong all class.. 1 thine

1. pMtt which, the nearer they arc looked at
and the more shadowy they become. It was hard!

hja
erseU by severities undertaken to 1

ped on Hi

Under which Lord?

(>',

.-•.,

the vicar himself that his celibacy was a cause of offence and a
temptation to evil speakers.

l'.very one was talking of the affair ; some doing their best to sift
the truth from the falsehood, others piling up the romance without
regard to either. Among the former were the Nesbiits, being of the
kind to whom scandal is not pleasant food and charitable interpret-
ation comes e.isy. All the same they blamed the vicar to a certain
extent ; and thought, not unreasonably, that " there must have been
something in it, and that Theresa had not made it all out of her
own imagination. He must have flirted with her to some degree,
even if she had been silly, poor dear ! and believed that he meant
more than he did,"

Ringrove said the same, and added a few masculine epithets that
were more forcible than polite. No one wondered at this. It was
veil known how the young fellow felt for Mr. Lascelles, and with what
reason — owing indirectly to him the loss of his own great hope
nd love, and more directly the destruction of his friend's happiness.
They were all walking up the garden at Newlands, on their way
from church the Sunday after Theresa's death, when the vicar
id preached her funeral sermon with saintly quietness, speaking of
er as now a soul in glory — the middle passage having been merci-
ully shortened in consideration of her good deeds done to the
bach.
" How could he stand there and preach that sermon when he
r how much she loved him, and that she had killed herself by all
t she did for the Church ?" said Bee as her rather disjointed contri-
bution to the talk going on.

Tears of confused feeling rose in her big brown eyes, and she was
unstmng and unlike herself. She and Ringrove were a little behind
the rest

He turned and looked at her with a strange fixed look that made

her blush and confused her yet more. He looked as if he foi. >i ih; i

she had eyes and could sec him, as if he had somehow the right to

k at her, smiling with the masterful security of a man who neither

doubts nor fears.

1 Bee I how glad I am that you never gave in to all this detestable
folly !" he then said suddenly.

She laughed nervously, but did not answer. She wished he
take his eyes away. It was not like Ringrove to look at her
like this — to make her feel uncomfortable and confused.

"Do you know why I am glad?" he said again abruptly, turning
ini

folh
won

uto the shady shrubbery walk.

&54

The Gentleman's M

" I suppose because you do not belong to At

'. in a voice that was not quite her own, and making an In-
but totally useless effort to appeal at case.

He stopped in their walk, and quietly put his arm

" Not only that," he said ; " I am glad because, »f you had beta
one of them, you would never have been my dear wife. And no*
you will l»e — will you not.

"Oh, Ringrovc I" said Beatrice, turning away her I

■luntarily, 1> , she not knowing what

arms were round him. and her pretty head was laid on his star-'
as if a itSJ ibeit was natural.

He pressed her to him ami whispered tenderly
darling, anil then I shall know that ye me.

Bee

•• Jflea," she said softly, lifting her face with the sweetest nuxturc
of shyness, love, submission, and offering her fresh lita with the
innocence of 0 < rlild

n darling!" he said fondly. "You are ju»t wha'
ought to be. Yon were made for me, my 1 now I am |

fectly happy."

" And 1, too, Ringrovc," whispered P
his, worshipping.

Surely a better ending to her girlhoo < lotion

or Theresa's self-destruction— the one for devotional enthusiasm,
other for religious excess ! Surely, too, a better kind of e .mfr
wan . than those made so

church where casuistry creates sins that do i and

superstition 1 neck to acts of penitence that I

warranty in reason nor cause in nature I

Chapter WW.

Khll AS 11 M.OW.

The Samson of Eruslianism, Ringr
and aggrieved parishioner, made a gallant tight ol

I tilings cat i nkclusion when all

Thee |0O expHi irgulation

the uniform cor
boast' That sh<

[a a Romanist in all save subtnis

Under which Lord? 655

superior to his own ; to die Evangelical minister who is a dissenter
from her organisation in all save his appreciation of her endowments ;
to the Broad Church clergyman who coquets with Socinianism, denies
eternal punishment, and rationalises the miracles ;— is her title to
honour. She calls it catholicity, and glories in that she sweeps the
sea with so wide a net, and so generous an arrangement of closely-
meshed pockets. If this is incommodious, perhaps that will hold
you safe. Between the supreme power of the Church which admits
of salvation only through obedience to her commands, and the
doctrine of free- gra«e by faith and the Bible ; between the daily
recurring miracle of Tnmsuljstantiation, and the bland endeavour to
find an intelligible meaning in the story of the dispossessed devils
sent into a herd of swine ; — there is surely some possible abiding-
place where the most fidgety soul may find rest ! And at the
worst, if you arc a spiritual nomad, as some are, and go through
states and doctrines as people go through climates and diet, you can
travel from one pocket to the other, yet always remain in the net of
the Church of England M by law established.

What ii tnic of the doctrines is also true of the ritual. Catholicity
of formula goes into diversity of practice ; and it is as difficult to
define what is lawful and what is forbidden in the way of observance
as to state the leading colour of a chameleon. Mr. larcellcs knew
every inrh of the ground whereon Ringrove Hardisty had ventured ;
and knowing his way he had no fear. He followed in the footsteps
of some of his predecessors, and bought his crown of martyrdom
cheap. He simply ignored the right of the law to deal with things
ecclesiastical, and proved his foresight when he snapped his fingers
and said : " Worth just that !"

He made no reply when called on for his answer to the charges
brought against him ; put in no appearance when summoned ; let
judgment go by default, and then paid no heed to the sentence of
prohibition. He still swung his censer, lighted his candles in broad
noonday, offered up the Sacrifice of the Mass, kept the crucifix on the
table, bowed and knelt at strange places in the service and before
strange objects of adoration. He performed the service just as he
had performed it before the suit had been instituted and the decree
pronounced ; and the Court of Arches might have been an Aristo-
phanie city in Cloudland for any respect paid to it by the Honourable
and Reverend I-auneelot LasceUcs. Only when the voice of the law
found a hand, and these "fond and superstitious" fancies were removed

found a hand, and these "fond and superstitious" fancies were removed
by main force — only then did he give way, always under protest, and

to prevent, as he said, an unseemly riot in die sacred edifice.

656 The GeutUman's Afagatri

were worth something to him
in 1 plea anl Little solatium. The subscription got up by the faithful
of the congregation, and headed by soft-hearted II; is a sabre

for poor dear Soperior'fl wounded feclii '>f an arm

which many a man would willingly have undergone an bout in the
pillory or a twist with the thumbscrews, and held him;, lid;

according to his own account of things and the relative vain
salve and suffering, money was but scant comfort to the vicar for all
1 he had endured. I as a martyr, and preaching as tf

the Church were on the brink of ]>crsecution — as 1 ad

hones vick the popular cry against conscientious Catholics, and
winnowing process had begun — he made the women weep for
sympathy, shudder with dread; while he, grand, calm, handsome,
hierophantic, solemnly exhorted all men to constancy and courage to
that the wicked might not prevail nor the Holy Mother be

The prosecution, which he and some others were careful to caU

persecution, had one evident result— good or bad n» people may

ak; it divided the parish sharply in1 and

did away with the indefinite fringe of neutral ho went

1 Ringrovc got up a writte
boidlj ; those who went with the vicar goi

to which all gave liberally ; and 1 oi mutually spread

reports, falsified (.■■ ibed unworthy rooi

and drakes of neighbourly si

But the vicai was the strongei on the d the women

the purse-strings, and beat the I the rubl>CT if he leal

and there ■ point
\\ bile the action was going on, and for some t
decision, the two parti, 1 speaking terms together. M

rett wrote to Ringrovc in Mrs 1 ulh rton's nam.. rbtd>

ding him to come to the Abbey ; .

and some others that he would
a: Holy Communion, aa he did not consider them in a :
to receive that blessed consotatioi 1 how

evi 1 on

om the services and solemnities of the Cbu
' of their id done 1

sious of
the only code of denial to which they would pay obc>!
bishop, to whom they appealed, decided in their fay©
ricar i cived an < :.. He was very wi

Under which Lord?

657

he had to give way ; and for the special Sunday when those abomi-
nable Erastians presented themselves, found himself obliged to be
from home. But, in spite of this little discomfiture, he was essen-
tially the victor. A few ornamental adjuncts had been removed, but
the core was left untouched. Confession, prayers for the dead, the
worship of the Blessed Virgin, obedience to the Church as synony-
mous with oliedience to God, the vital principle of the power of the
to regulate the lives, limit the knowledge, and order the
oughts of the laity — all these were left. And by these the manly
jiirit of the parish was subdued, the essential purity of the women
ipped, the right of intellectual freedom denied, the progress of true
ucation stopped, and the law of the land stultified and defied.
All the same the vicar still complained of the wickedness of an

k unbelieving generation, and preached on the theme of a glorious
martyrdom with an air of saintly courage that made the soft hearts of
the women bleed for sympathetic pain.
Meanwhile the more secular portions of local history were being
followed to their appointed end ; and among these came that un-
finished chapter on Mr. Fullcrton's men, whom Mr. Lascelles had
found it imperative by the law of Christian duty to ruin.

Ringrovc Hardisty had housed them, as has been said, and had
done his best to befriend them all round ; but somehow things had
not gone well with them. It is always difficult to help high-spirited
workers when their work will not keep them and they object to un-
earned gratuities. Even the faithful had suffered with the recalcitrant
i one way, if not in another, and George and Nanny were as hardly
en as the rest. Nanny, always in delicate health and now
frailer than ever, pined away after the death of her child, and
gradually sank into her eternal sleep ; while George, thrown off his
balance by grief, gave himself up to religious enthusiasm and the
realisation of the Promise, as the only assuagement he could find.
Full of the restless energy of proselytism, desirous that all should ex-
perience the blessed Hope that had come to him, and feeling his place
as a member of a ritualistic congregation, where his highest virtue
was quiescent obedience, too narrow for his burning zeal, he went
out into the open, became a free-lance in the general army of the
Lord, and gave himself to preaching in the highways. He took a
solemn leave of all his old friends and associates, of whose eternal
perdition he was only too sorrowfully sure, and told them with many
tears that he should never see them again, neither in this world nor
the next, for where he went they could not come ; he did his faithful
best to convert the vicar on another count, and to prove to him the
ccxlv. no. 17SS. u u

658 The Gtntlemaiis Magazine.

scriptural apostasy of his papistical doctrines which put anything of
man's invention before free grace and the naked Bible ; and then be
went out, as another St. Francis Xavicr, and made his scanty dairy
bread by hawking tracts among the unsaved, while preaching the
doctrine of Faith, and Retting up small village Revivals.

M I would rather have seen him laid by the side of my poor girl,"
said John Grave*, with something that was more pathetic than torn
in his eyes. " He is lost, not only to me, but to all rcasonableoru
and manliness ; and a turn more would land him in Bed!

So it would : but wanting that turn he was f: bout

the country, preaching salvation by faith, and the sin of priestly
mediation, just as Mr. I -ascclles was free to go into tin- pulpit
preach salvation for Englishmen by the Anglican Chur< ifta

the priest the appointed agent of God, and the sin of heresy leu
pudonsUa than that of murder.

Like the rest of the men John was painfully poor in those dark
days. Custom fell off from him, no one bu
knew how. A new tailor set up in Crossholmc and prospered apace.
He came from London and was a devoted Churchman ; but hi* work
was not as good as John's ; and devoted churchmanship gave neither
a fair fit nor satisfactory stitching. All the same, he got the best port
of the local custom ; and only those few old-fashioned carle* who
disliked the vicar's doctrines, and preferred the old stagnation to the
new movement, stuck to John for the sake of the long sync and
stitches that would hold together when they had a strain.

1'om Moorhcad's case was the worst, for he lost more than house
or money. He had not the fine fibre of John Graves, nor that kind
of manly philosophy which would keep ! '•. under pressure.

He had always been a ramping, violent, hi hed Son of

Thunder, who, at the best of times, had ncede<! ind

to be deftly guided, not harshly driven. Richard 1'ullcrton had bod
supreme influence I kepi him pretty well to the

rigl ' cite moral compass; but sin ->g when

the old Adam had biased oti :: fiery words, and 1 had

token such revengeful note of them, Tom's a liad bt>.

and it had continued t .tt a liand gall 1

His work left him, on>i had always been

sober in fact, with possibilities in him of a loose It! gi went

wrong; and now these possibilities had become
pride crushed, he took refuge in forgetfulncss, was scldo.

over "on the rampage." With his great personal
strength and furious passions, he was a formidable.

kin
and

Uttdtr which Lord? 659

little village society; and the vicar had his eye on him, as had many
others prepared to fling him heavily at his first legal trip — which
every one felt sure would come in its own good time.

Tom went down Adam Bell went up. It was the old see-
saw, and this time craft and a shaky past had the best of it. Adam
had prospered right over the borders. The man had a jackdaw's
faculty for accumulatiim, and money seemed somehow to grow in
the night with him. lie had left off scheming out his mechanical re-
volutions since he came to Crossholuie, (Uxd had applied himself with a
will to the more profitable occupation of making more than the two
ends meet Evidently he had succeeded, and the lap over was con-
siderable. He- hid put .' Gae now front to his little shop, and his
plate-glass window was the admiration of the village; his goods were
well chosen, and he was always bringing in some novelty of which
use made a necessity; he was secretary here and treasurer there ; and
his energy, obliging manners, and neat handwriting had their share
in the garnering of his goodly harvest. Whatever might lurk in the
shadows of the past, hc-Tc in the present he was all square and above-
board ; and Tcally, as some said, it seems scarcely fair to mistrust a
man because he came out of the dark of yesterday without a character
pinned to his back or a certificate from his List place, when he had
lived so long as Adam Bell had lived at Crossholme, and not a soul
had a bad word to say of him ! It was only a reasonable argument,
as most confessed; and the little chandler got the benefit of it.
People had left oft' distrusting him, and had begun to tlunk him no
worse than his neighbours J in which they were about right; and at
all events they paid him the wage for which he had been working.
Thick-headed, bull-necked Tom Moorhead was not one of these
inilly ratters. Once a blackamoor always a blackamoor with Tom ;
sad he scoffed at the theory of leopards changing their spots. To
him Adam Bell bad always been a sly cat of a man who had come
mousing here from the Lord knows where, and who shall say with what
kind of soot on his muzzle ? — and let him get a character by half a
century of industry and solvency, Tom would still have that apocry-
phal parish register to fling in his face, and those two unanswered
questions to ask : "What workhouse bred you?" and "What gaol
held you?" Pretty Janet took ■ different view of things. Pretty
Janet saw no fun in a bare cupboard and patched gowns, with a
drunken father staggering home at night, half mad from bad liquor
and a worse conscience, and fit to take the house if so much as a
cricket chirped, as she used to say. Adam Bell, a clean shaven,
smart, smug little man, as sharp as a needle and with a repute for

v u a

660 The Gentleman s Magazi

good gear, hid followed her for many a day now, and so far showed
his disinterested r.rss. young men liere-away were scarce; so she
made op her mind to take Adam for good and all, and run for shelter
under the vi< ;n' tould her father * turn ro

The nSWlt of all this v. ming

home a trifle earlier than II he coold

see, caught the pair of them * Kick, via

Adam's arm round Janet*! nd their lip > other

for bis taste. He took the little chandler with one hand, and

ed the life out of him with the other. It was a near thing; and
for two months the one by in prison, while the other hovered
between life and death— the issue to determine whether Tom was
to be tried for murder or only aggravated assault and battery.

nks to the wiry thread that ran tl ! over

his broken bones; and as soon as he could turn himself about he
and Janet were married at the parish church and the vicar 1 1
officiated. So that Tom when he came up for trial had tht
smart of knowing that be was to serve out his term, with hard labour,
for the man who was now his son-in-law, and who had his dan
as well as juiticc and public opinion on his side.

Hut nothing mm ' - to him now, he said. He was a

broken man from the day when he had been put into the Starton lockup
for inciting to a breach of the peace anent the vicar .._• took

ttmshment so sullenly, that it was no nutter of wonder to the
authorities when they found him hanging in his cell by -in ingenious
contrivance of rope made out of his bedding. So p< I was a

wise instinct in Janet to make her own nest warm, i at her

father's house would never more give her comf;

Soon after this the marriage of Ringrovc and Bee Metbit! came
to the point, and with it arose a certain difficulty. In the rclati
which they stood to the vicar and his party they did not •.
or any of his curates should perform the ceremooj „•, alto

because of those re- cfuted

to lend hi L-r for thisor any «.! >-.r. kin-

grove, as his solution of the difficulty, proposed the Rcgistr
said he thought it would be bi ing over the Church altogether.

It was the law which nude the marriage, he

law suffered the Church to run side by . matter—

allowed her to be exponent.

law that lud to be satisfied ; an
you against the bw it would be a dead form, null and .J »•»■

of num.'

Under which Lord? 66 1

At first Mrs. Ncsbitt, who represented conformity to established
shook her head, more than a little scandalised by this
city of her prospective son-in-law, and said : " No, certainly
not I Bee must be married from home and at her own parish church,
like any other lady." She would not dream of allowing such an
indignity as a marriage at the Registrar's office. If they were not
married in church it would not be like a proper wedding at all, and
she would never feel that things were as they should be. No ! the
meagrcness of Ringrove's proposal had no kind of support from her,
and even Mr. Nesbitt said it would scarcely do.

Tor Bee herself, she would have been married at a police court if
Ringrovc had wished it. He was her lord, and his will was her
desire ; but he convinced Mrs. Ncsbitt at last, and proved to her
that for him in his position the Registrar's office was the most suitable
kind of thing, as evidencing the majesty of the law, and being
another blow dealt to the supremacy of the vicar.

It was a hard struggle ; for conformity is like lifcblood to the
normal Englishman, and still more to the normal Englishwoman j
but Samson conquered at last, and put the finishing touch to his
iniquity by making his marriage simply a civil contract, and flinging
orerboard the blessing of the Church as a caligraphic flourish not
vital to the bond.

They did not do themselves mod) harm by their rebellion to
forms. People said : "How very odd of the Nesbitts ! " and mothers
declared they would not have allowed such a marriage with their
daughters; but by degrees the little tumult subsided and the reaction
set in — when it was called plucky, and just what that papist in dis-
guise deserved.

•And this is the man for whom you designed your sweet
Virginia!" said Edith Everett, in B tone as if Hcrmione were per-
sonally responsible for all that Ringrove had done or was designing
to do, from the "persecution" of the vicar to this infidel and ungodly
marriage.

" Oh ! he was much better then than he is now," said Hermione
simply. " He was a very dear fellow then, and I was very fond of
him."

" What an extraordinary expression ! How much I dislike to
hear a married woman use it I" answered her guide and friend
suavely. " A married woman should never say she is fond of any
man whatsoever. It is indelicate and not nice."

" I do not see anything cither indelicate or not nice in saying tli.it
I u*ed to be fond of Ringrovc Hardisty," retorted Hermione with

66s

The Gentleman's Magazine.

spirit. " I knew him when he was a little boy, and I hoped at one
time that he would have married my daughter ; so I think I an
entitled to say that I was fond of hin- ive such strange

ideas, Edith ; and such an uncomfortable way of putting tin

" Now don't lose your temper, dear. I speak only for your own
good," said Mrs. Everett, with amiable equanirn

a are always doing and saying disagreeable thing* for my
good," said Hcrmionc "I must be very bad to want so audi
putting to rights."

'• You certainly want a great deal of putting to rights, my dor,*
returned her friend with an amiable smile, Ihet you arc very

bad or no is another mar

" I know what you would say ; so we need not discuss that part
of die question," Hermione answered hastily.

She had come to die pass when all that Edith Everett said or did
seemed harsh and cruel — Edith to that when all that Hermione said
or did seemed contemptible and quite beyond the need of courtesy.
It was getting time for them to part if they were to keep even the
lifeless husk of friendliness between them ; and Edith was only
waiting for the moment until she felt that she had made herself so
useful to the vicar as to be eventually indispensable.

" In that case silence is golden, dear," relumed Edith.

Hcrmionc put her head on one side a little defiantly.

" You can scarcely wonder at my feeling an affection for IV
Nesbitt and Ringrovc," she went on to say. as if there had been no
break in that part of the conversation. "They have always been to
sweet and iff en 1

look luck and remember how good always wx\ what

care she took of me, how kind she used BOW respectful

■ I"

I do
believe, Hermione, you care for nothing Id
attention 1 It never seem'. icople are vnl

or rq>rchcnsible for th re— only they

arc wh;u I n*c your

thoughts a little hi , dear? It is distressing to see such

immaturity of a woman of your 0|

•• I don't wish to beCM id, stroti

women," returned Hermione, crimsoning
hate that kind of woman—
would far rather be what I am, .
not,"

Under which Lord?

663

"Well ! live on sugar-plums to the end of your life, if you like,
dear ; I prefer a nobler kind of food," answered Edith, shrugging
her shoulders. " I like lo make friends with people I respect, not
■ mly because they take it into their heads to be what you call kind to
and I think mine is the nobler view of life, dear."
" Mine is the more natural, and I should not care to live as you do,
dear, with no one to love me," was Hermione's seemingly artless reply.
To which Edith Everett made answer by a laugh, and a sudden
nounccment of going to the Vicarage, " where Superior had some-
ng of great importance to tell her."
' And that is the flattery I care for," she said in a drawling kind
I voice. " When such a man as Superior, with his mind, tells me
his troubles, confides to me his most secret affairs, and asks my
advice, then I feel that I am of some use in the world, and that I am
more cared for than if I were just a pretty little doll, flattered and

I caressed because good for nothing else ! "
" Thank you," said Hermionc.
"Oh, I did not mean you, dear!" said Edith Everett blandly.
" You are of use, you know. You have got rid of tine parish atheist
and restored the church ! — two titles to honour of no mean value.

• Well, good-bye, little woman. I see Sister Barbara coming up the
drive, so you will have a companion. When we meet again I hope
you will be radiant. Smiles become your pretty face more than

I frowns ; and you arc undeniably frowning at this moment."
She gave the round dimpled chin a little " chuck " as she passed ;
but Hermionc drew herself away, saying crossly —
" Don't be so silly, Edith I You treat me just like a child."
"Do I, dear?" said Edith, laughing, as she left the room; while
Hermionc was soon immersed in tiresome details with Sister Barbara,
who came to her from the Convalescent Home, and worried her
almost into tears about uninteresting matters which took up her time
and prevented her from doing what she wished to do, and gave her
no satisfaction from thanks or kudos when they were done.

At last the big, fat, smiling Sister left, and then Hermionc ordered
the carriage and drove straight to Newlands.

She was so irritated, so disturbed altogether, that she felt as if she
must do something desperate and insubordinate. She knew nothing
worse than to show favour to the Nesbitts and Ringrovc, who were
now almost as typical for ungodliness as Richard himself had been.
And she thought that, although she was very angry with Ringrove, of
course, still dear pretty Beatrice had done no wrong, and they had
nee been such friends together 1 She did not like that the girl

one*

664 TAe Gentleman s Magasine.

whom she had known from her infancy should marry without some
little token from her; so she put up in a little parcel the row of pearls
which she and Richard had given Virginia on the Last birthday spent
at home, and which had been worn only once, at the fatal dinner.
She wrote a few kind words, accompanying the gift; and felt to
much the happier because of her generosity, her delicate thought in
connecting Ringrove's wife with Virginia, which she knew would
please him so much, and her disobedience to Superior and Ed
Evctctt : Mild mutiny was in her way, and she thought that to be
easily lost when not carefully held was something for a woman to
boast of and quite within the range of righteous self-assert kin. "Qui
me neglige me perd " had been one of her favourite mottoes when
she had been a girl ; and a bird escaping from the unguarded cage
her device.

.She had not intended to go in at Ncwlands, but when her carriage
was seen coming up the drive Ringrovc and Beatrice both rushed
out to the door; and it touched her soft heart to sec the evident
delight with which the young lovers, and presently Mrs. NesbUt,

n-cd her.

" Ah, this is nice of you ! this is like you, Mrs. Fullcrton." said
Ringrovc enthusiastically; and before Mcrniione well knew what had
happened she found herself in the Newlands drawing-room, where
Mrs. Ncsbitt kissed her like a sister, and Bee made much of her with
cushions and footstools, and words as sweet and soft as her own
dear eyes. Ikr \ isit was made quite a fete by all, and she was
surrounded by the pleasant and affectionate little fuss which was
what she liked better than anything else.

" You arc only a great boy yet, Ringrove," she sa i in

spite of her endeavour to look grave, when he insisted on kneeling
at her feet. " You will never be what the children call grown up."

"If to be grown up means to become indifferent to you, 1 cer-
tainly never shall l>c," laughed Ringrove. " Bee knows that."

•' Yes, indeed," echoed Bee. " Not a day posses when we do not
speak of you, dearest Mrs. Fullcrton. Ringrove seems to care more
for you than any one in the world."

U one," said Ringrove, with the folly of happiness; and Bee
gave back a happy, soft, foolish little laugh, as she said i " I don't
think even 'bar one,' as you call it."

i, my dear, you know where your true friends are," said Mrs.
Neibitt, patting the pretty woman's round shoulder. " Never any

toga here, dear Hcrmione ! — always the old affection when you
to take ;

Under whith Lord?

665

" I know that," said Hcmiione, with a sudden feeling of choking
her throat.

What a pity that these bad Church-people should be so nice as
friends, so good as the natural man I If they had but come over
how much pleasantcr everything would have been I

" You have always been a kind of Queen among us, you know,"
then said Ringrove. " Our beautiful Mrs. Fullerton was the crown of
our society."

" You must not flatter," said Hennione, with a kind of frightened
pleasure.

It was delightful to hear all these caressing words once more ;
t what would Superior say when he knew she had been here and
ied to them ? She must not let herself be carried away, and she
exit the whole thing short

I dare say you wonder at my coming, dear," she then said to
Nesbitt; " but I could not let Bee marry without a little present
me, and I have brought you " — to Beatrice herself — " what I
sure you and Ringrove both will like better than anything else —
this row of pearls which we gave our dear Virginia on the last birth-
day she spent with us. She wore them only once, at that awful
1 fan a party," with a shudder; " but perhaps you will like them none
the less for that. It was only once ; and they arc really great
beauties."

'•They arc all the dearer for that," said Beatrice heartily ; and
Ringrove, taking them from her hands, kissed them Tevercmly, then
fastened them round Dec's soft throat and kissed her after he had
done so.

" 1 am glad that your wife will wear those pearls," said Hcrmionc
impulsively.

" And I am glad that my marriage will connect me with you by
BNO tins little link," he answered with grave tenderness.

" Poor sweet Virginia I these pearls will be a sacred treasure in
outhouse," said Mrs. Nesbitt lovingly; and Beatrice half whispered,
"Yes;" with tears in her eyes.

Then Hcrmione rose to leave, and Ringrove took her to the
Orriage.

" Have you heard from your husband lately ! " he said abruptly
out quite naturally, as if Hermione had been in the habit of hearing
«om him every week.

" No," she replied, with painful embarrassment.
" I shall sec him when I pass through London on my way to
next week. Shall I say anything from you ? "

666

The Gentleman s Magazine.

"Give him my love, and say I hope he is well," answered
Hcrmionc in a low voice ; " mind you say this, Ringrovc."

" Willingly. Nothing more ? "

" No, nothing more— only my love, and I hope he is well. Good-

, Ringrovc; God bias you and make you ru; 1 do not

think harshly of me," she said impulsively Richard

my love," she repeated for the third time as the carriage drove
away.

When she reached home she found a certain odd bustle of
preparation about the house. The servants were discomposed and
the hall was encumbered with luggage.

"What is the matter?" she asked; and the man, with a broad
smile, answered —

'■ Mr*. Everett, ma'am. She is leaving by the next train."

' l have had a telegram,'' said Edith with perfect tranquillity of
conscience, when Hermionc went into her room to ask wha*
meant. Hut if she had it must have been by a and

1 1 service. " My boy wants I

" Is he ill f" inquired Hermionc anxiously, her dislike subdued
by sympathy.

*' A little out of sorts," answered Edith. " At all events it is
duty to go to him."

" I am so sorry ! You will let me know how he is, and you will come
back again," the soft-hearted creature said with a pitying accent ; hut
at the same time drawing a deep breath. It was as if a prison door had
been suddenly opened and the fresh mountain air had blown
the dust and darkness.

Edith smiled sarcastically. She understood too well the difference
between impulse and conviction not to sec the rootlessness of
lUrmionc's invitation.

banks," she drawled ; " thanks for all your great affection and
generous hospitality. I hope, however, I have been i f
you. I think I have; but you must not fall hack wh<
to yourself, Hertnione. And above all things keep clear of
dreadful Nesbitts and Mr. 1 1

This she said with a little laugh, and Hermionc bo mon.

■ a chance shot, but it had the look of a tnic nim ; and when
the pretty woman changed colour in that telltale manm
inquisitor knew that somehow she hod hit the mark ; though the how
was not quite clear.

fern arc so weak, you see, den
knows what jrou may nut do. Bttt 'ham

ocd

i an'!

£5

Under which Lord?

667

ng if you make friends again with these people who have perse-
cuted poor dear Superior and the Church so bitterly."

" One cannot quarrel for ever," said Hcrmionc at once evasive
and apologetic.

Edith Everett curled her lip.

" You are impossible ! " she said contemptuously; and turned to
hcT own affairs with the manner of one who has renounced further

Etnmunion.
Even when she took her final leave she still kept up this manner
renunciation and severance; and hastily brushing Hermione's
eek with her own, as the only kind of embrace she could find it
in her heart to give, she hurried into the railway carriage and
did not even look up from her travelling bag for the last orthodox
salute.

"Gone at last ! — how glad lam!" was Hermione's thought as she
turned away ; and : " What a relief to have got rid of that awful
fool ! " was Edith Everett's, doubled with : " I wonder what Superior
will do without me. I am sure he will miss me awfully. I hope so;
else I have done foolishly to go !"

Chares XXXVI.

RINO DOWN THE CURTAIN.

The loss of Edith Everett was more severely felt by Mr.
Lascclles U time went on than even it had been in the be-
ginning; and more severely by far than had been that of his
sister. A certain sympathy of nature between the vicar and the
widow, which had not been between the brother and sister, had
given a special rharm to all that came from her hands ; and though

Agnes had been clever, Edith Everett had been <■'.,
still. With as much devotion to the Church, she had more tact
with outsiders ; and then she was just those five years younger which
make all the difference in a woman's life — those five years which
leave the gate still open and keep the roses blooming within— over-
blown and damaged by wind and weather, if you will, but all the
same roses and in bloom.

The vicar bemoaned himself bitterly on the loss of his faithful
friend. He felt desolate, oppressed with tiresome minuti*, and not
able to gather up the multifarious threads which she had quiet'-

66S

The Gentleman's Magazine.

taken into her own hands, and bad now thrown down in a tan
heap at his feet

It was exactly the result which Mrs. Everett had foreseen, and for
which she had played. To make him feel first her value, and ■'
her loss, was about the best card in her hand ; and if this did no*
win the game, she knew of none other that would. Had she seen
him now fuming over insignificant details from which she wuold
have freed him— besieged by hysterical penitents whose consciences
could be soothed only by his writing to them or their catling on
him ; had she seen him with his sacerdotal calmness laid aside and
an undeniably petulant humanity manifest in its stead, she would
have glorified herself in the success of her stratagem, and would

B thought, as so often before, that no matter how much inUi
a man may bare, he is nothing but a lump of plaster clay when an
astute woman undertakes to mould him

Wh, scellcs heard that Hcrmionc had been to New-lands

even wl i at the Abbey, and speculated on what

wrong use she might now make of her dangerous freedom, he was
Cpl into a torrent of wrath that made

n it was over. Adam Bell had told him— fbi cty

little that Adam did not know — and he had sworn aloud when he
tone ; but he orbed himself so far as not to send the scathing
letter be rapidly wrote out, and contented himself with passing on
Coldly and hurriedly after evensong, when I the

church and found Hcrmione as usual loiecrin up the road

hoping he would overtake her. He did overtake her — he and all
i rs, whom he generally shook off long before
he came to this point. This afternoon, however, with a
"Beautiful day it has been .' " as bis only greeting, he passed on
speed.

"Superior is angry I " thought Hennione, as 1. following

strode on. " He has heard of my going to Newlands, and means
to punish me. What a tyrant he is I " was her next thought. u How
unlike poor dear Richard in everything!" her last, ended with a
sigh.

>rc

Should he marry her ? This was the question w I
evening the vicar asked himself as he sat in his solitary ltu<l
ling it on ever.
is eminently the right kind of w i d tal

one at all «c things which some m

backs were so many |»ints in her (aw

Under which Lord? 669

handsome, therefore the ungodly could not say that he had sacrificed

principle to the temptations of the tlcsh ; she was not rich, therefore

the cry of Mammon and mercenary motives would be a failure ; she

had four children— four witnesses of his Christian patience and

philanthropy; and she was capable, intelligent, and devoted to the

Church. Perhaps she would be more useful to the cause as ■ wife

than as merely a friend ! The world is so censorious, so unwilling

to so set against innocent friendships between

men and women ! A celibate priesthood is undoubtedly the ideal

of ecclesiastical organisation, and in certain circumstances gives the

most power. In others, the reverse obtains. Was this one of those

others? — and, lure at Crossholme, would a married vicar be of more

solid benefit than one, like himself, unmarried, fascinating, and

consequently a living target at which all women aimed their erotic

dnrts and calumny let fly her poisoned arrows? Poor Theresa had

been a case in point ! Unless something supremely good offered

he should remain at Crossholme. The church made attractive by

its appointments and splendid ritual, the benefice enriched by the

. which he had induced the wealthy faithful to give, the

iiiajo: ity submissive and the recalcitrant minority impotent : — yes,

he would keep the living ; for all that he summed up on the other

side of the account :— the Abbey funds almost exhausted, Ringrovc

Hardisty sure to prove troublesome if he had the chance, and

Churchlands reported sold to a Roman Catholic who would draw

away more than one weak vessel when the opposition Mass was in

working order. But he would stay, in spite of all this ; unless

indeed he were called away by an offer of so much gain or dignity

as it would be impiety to refuse. And being here, a country vicar —

so different from a town incumbent — would it not be better for him

to marry ?

He had no doubt of Edith herself. Though she did not give
him the idolatrous love of pour Theresa, nor had he over her the
same kind of rootless personal fascination that he had over Hcr-
mione, still he knew that she would marry him if he asked her.
The tic between them was stronger and tougher than that of
personal affection. It was the tie of intellectual companionship.
They mutually supplemented each other, he said to hirnsclf; and
she was a wonderfully intelligent executant. He little thought that,
while he thus patronised her as the worthy handmaid of his power,
she knew herself his manager. Every time she led him by that
invisible thread of suggestion was a triumph of which she understood
the full value. He was strong, but she was stronger; and however

670

The Gen tU mans Ma* a

brilliant his intclbgcnce, hers was the governing influence. " The
cleverest man is not equal to the cleverest woman." This was her
axiom, and her own life justified her.

And still, while he pondered and hesitated, those matter* which
she could best regulate pressed more and more heavily on him, and
Ikniiiotie'i practical usclcssness was more and more evident by
force of contrast is • of need. Then he decided on what to

do, Mid wrote to Edith Everett the letter which was to determine all

When the answer came, as he expected, in the affirmative— «
grave, sensible, judicious answer, for which he had been made to
wait many days, and wherein was expressed no jubilation, no personal
affection, nothing but a rational review of their joint circumstances,
and bow the Church could be best served — he went up to the
Abbey, where he spent several hours with Hcrmionc alone. He did
not tell her what he had done. He bod in his pocket the letter by
which the whole programme and meaning of his life would be
changed ; but he kept his own counsel and made no confidences— at
least, for the present Time enough to proclaim this sudden rev.
lion in his principles when secrecy was no longer possible and public
avowal had to be made.

It was long since he had been so delightful to Hcrmionc as he
was to-day. The ictum on the original Mr. Lascellcs, whom
somehow she had lost since she had performed ba final act of
sacrifice at his instance, was as complete as it was fascinating.
Never had his manner been so tenderly suggestive, his personal
devotion, purified by pastoral care, so satisfying. It was like
some one lost and now found again ; and she welcomed his rtt
with pleasure tliat passed from gratitude to self-abasement. It

ised him, strong and cruel as he was, to act out this last scene in
the diama where he had all along played under an impenetrable
mask, and she, poor soul I with not even the flimsi
between her innermost heart and his keen eyes. It flattered his sense
of power to sec her sensitive face change from the disconten-.
ncss that had lately settled on it into something of its fornn 1
softness and shy delight j to watch her colour come and go U
skilfully mingled priestly exhortations and lover-like flatteries
together; to sec her blue eyes brighten when h-.

refrom shi en

free he would have made himself he:
would not dare to interpret too closely. It was a
existing circumstances no peril ; and this was the hut I
should know it.

Under which Lord? 671

So the hoars passed ; and when he went away he carried with
him, in the same pocket as that which held Edith Everett's letter, a
cheque of four figures, which he knew too well it was simple robbery
take from her cruelly diminished income.

u It may be the last," said Mr. Lascelles to himself, as he took the
paper with effusive thanks and delightful praise. " I am wise to take
what I can get and when I can get it ; and by rights it all belongs to
the Church."

Eor some time yet the vicar kept his secret ; but at last one even-
ing he wrote to Hermione, telling her that he was leaving Crossholmc
to-morrow for a short time. After having recommended to her care
this case and Uiat house, and planned out her work during his
absence, he said : " And now I am about to communicate to you,
my dearest and most faithful friend, a fact wherein I am sure of your
sympathy. When I return, it will be with Edith Everett as
my wife. This will, I am sure, be good news to you. It will not only
: my ministrations here at Crossholmc more effective than at
present, but it will also be of benefit to you. It will give you a sister
in her, as well as a more efficient protector in myself. Else I should
not hare taken a step to which, I am sure you will believe me when
I say, the consideration of your gain has most powerfully impelled
me. Let roc have your prayers and congratulations ; my cup of
happiness will then be full."

It would have been difficult for Hermione to have put into words
what she felt when she read this letter. Anger, disappointment,
sorrow, the sense of having been duped and played with, of having
been badly used, of having had something taken from her that she
believed was hers — all sorts of confused and embittered feelings came
like tumultuous clouds, unstable, intangible, but evident and real.
And yet, why should she feel as she did ? Why should this marriage
make her loneliness so much more barren — her widowhood so much
more burdensome? What did it take from her?

When she tried to reason it out fairly she had no self-justification
fact or common sense ; but none the less she felt so much the
er and more desolate on account of it as to be substantially
wrecked— as also, in some obscure way, insulted, jilted, and
aggrieved.

She was very foolish to take it so much to heart, she thought, as
she sat there with the letter in her hands and the sensation of utter
rain and collapse about her. But, after all, it was a shameful thing to
do I Superior bad so often spoken against marriage for the priest-
hood ; he had so often said that a celibate clergy was the only

in fa-
poor

672 The Gentleman s Magazine.

I tcous body ; and now he himself had broken through his
rules and falsified his own principles 2 Ye* ; now she had rr.
clear to herself:— it was because he was false to his own teach tag,
not because he was false to her. Of course that was impossible'
«U married, and it could not make any difference to her, at a
woman, whether he took a hundred wives or no. But on that other
ground he could not expect anything else than her displeasure.
After lit: himself had taught her that a married priest i< a sacruVxttu
unaly, to go and marry on his own account — and of all women a
the world that odious Edith Everett I Any one but her. Poor
Theresa Molyncux, a thousand limes rather ; even that ridicufam
Miss Pryor, with her sidling 3irs and wasp's waist, wouh! haw beta
battel ; but Mrs. Everett, so ugly as she was, and such a hypocrite u
she had been ! — it was horrible to think of! Her sister, indeed !—
no sister of hers I She should never come to the Abbey as Mrs.
1 -asccllcs— never I never ! Whatever happened, this should not core*
into tl>c list of her trials to be undergone for the sake of the Church
and her Director! It was shameful, it was impiotu trior

! Edith Everett his wife wondered he did ok

expect to be id before the altar the next time he celebrated

the S.ki , M;is»I

then her mental ravings ended, as of course they must, in a

m a wild cry of " Richard ! Richard ! why

I re you ? "

All this happened |u(1 before the return of Ringrovc and Beatrice

to their 1 rip They had made a long journey on the

Continn .1 been over more than the stock touring -ground.

Now tin back to begin the life that Ringrovc had once

toed with and the county prepared to do them honour.

K> called on them was Hcrmione Fullerton.
Conscious that she had l>ccn played with, deceived, and rxffoMi
by the vicar for his personal ends — whether connected with the

onal— she war m show k

that she had thrown off her allegiance. She was still a good >
woman; that she would always be— must be. indeed, by the rut
Of hi nless she should go deeper still and (61

, which was not impossible— but she must pu en than

she was no longer under his special domination, an

1 the org was still 1

All thai delightful hare of (■

1 and fascination, vrorsb'

Under which Lord ' 673

the man in one — all that had gone ; .arid she must show tli.u it h.iil.
She had never been really in love with liitn ; looking back, she COtlld
say that. Hut he had had a greater hold on her by her imagination,
by her belief in his esteem and sympathy for her, and by her in in. 1
of obedience, than was perhaps wise. When the spell was broken,
she recognised so much of the truth, and knew now, when he was
about to many Edith Everett, how much of her religious zeal had
been due to the splendid personality of the priest who had con-
verted her. The man had endeared the creed ; as must ever be
in those religions which give the priesthood powers beyond nature
and supreme authority over the consciences and lives of men,

From this date however all was to be changed ; and she would
take up again so much of her old life as she could reconcile with her
conscience. She would find out Richard and bring him b.\> k in
triumph to the Abbey. Or if he liked it better, they would make a
new home for themselves somewhere else. Perhaps she could yet
reclaim him from his errors. God might still work a miracle on her
behalf, and strike him with the blinding light of truth before it was
too late. He was so good I— though an infidel, still so good !
She wanted him too in matters of business. Her affairs were in
frightful confusion, and she could not put them straight She would
give them all into his hands again, and he might do as he thought
best. She would ask no questions ; and ignorance would absolve
her from the guilt of participation should he use her money as he
used it before — for the spread of infidelity. Anything was better
than the present wretched state of things, where she did not know
what she had to spend nor what she had to pay ; when bills on
which she had never calculated were always coming in, and interest
on loans which she never remembered was always going out. And
really cottages let for so much rent, even to infidels, would be belter
for her in the state of her finances than these same cottages given
now to this and now to that purpose of the Church for no rent and
some outgoings. These loans to the Lord, so perpetually negotiated
by Mr. Lasccllcs, were terribly heavy, all things considered, and,
since the treachery of the negotiator, unendurable.

Full of these thoughts, she drove over to Monkshall to call on
the young people just returned, and to make the first step in that
backward path which was to redeem the post She had bow]
nothing of her husband since Ringrovc's letter from London, two
days after his marriage, telling her that he had seen Richard ; that
he was not looking well, but would not confess to feeling ill ; that he
was occupied at a certain Institution where he gave lectures and

VOL. CCJO.V. MO. I788. X X

6 74 7*-** Gentleman's Magazine.

made experiments and investigations ; and that he had gone back
to his own name, being now simply S|>«nce — Richard Spence,
Ringrove did not give the address cither of the Institution or the

lodging*.

ndonment of her name had hurt Mcrmionc at the time
mor< deeply loan she could explain to herself. She thought It end,
; that she had not deserved, taking her at her
worst ; for she iU of that large class of women who think it a ihamc
th;it they should be made to pay their forfeits, or have I in

|ctnd when they do wrong to others. Slic had withdrawn herself from
her husband, but he had no business to drop her name. She had
been misguided, but he had been actively to blame. II cr anger how-
ever had died by now, and had left only a fail of a wrong
somehow done her ; so that when she resolved to seek ■

! offer him reconciliation and reinstatement, it was pleasant to
believe that she had something to forgive. It strengthened her pur-
pose and gave her courage.

Wean-, pale, depressed, over-taxed with work, and disabled by

disease, Richard Spence, the popular lecturer at the Insl

came back to his meagre lodgings early in the afternoon of an otT
at the laboratory. That old (win ;it his heart scarcely ever left him
now ; he had often fits of Midden faintness and general loos of po*
he was soon tired, and no rest refreshed him— always exluuisted and
unable to eat. But he still went on doing his day's work manfully,
though his life was drawing to its close — and he knew it. He was
lying back in the easy cliair, not sleeping, but in that half-doze of
weakness which looks like sleep, when the door I tied, and

Hcrmionc, trembling, shamefaced, eager, came in.

By u instinct of pure womanliness, she had dressed herself aa of
old in a certain grey silk guv, is, touched here and there with pink,
which had been a favourite of his. She had arranged her hair in the
fluffy frivolous way that he liked, and put on her rings and ch a

: bracelets. She was as she used to be in the days before her

WCt— the dream of his youth, the wife of his mm women

whom he loved, and, because he loved, b trusted.

For a moment he tlvor te was dreaming, and this a mere

cheat of his brain ; bv.\ e came 0| md

lj half irnispc !>cn he knew that

true, and that his weary exile hai i an end.

raised himself frot.: lion with

the faintness, of overpower. wfj hun,

to his heart as she knelt by his ll I jh he had jd

Under which Lord?

675

as she had knelt on the evening of the day when Mr. Lascelles had
successfully defied, and she had divorced him. Neither spoke ; only
her quick sobs and his laboured breath told how with her contrition
was greater than joy, how with him joy was so great as to be pain.

At last he lifted her face and held it bock with his hand on her
forehead.

"Let me look at you," he said in a low voice. "Ah, this dear
fecc of my wife — how sweet to see it once more 1 My own again !
My wife, my love ! Sweetest and dearest of all women on the earth —
Hcrmionc 1 "

" Say first that you forgive me," she sobbed.

" Love has nothing to forgive," he answered with infinite tender-
ness. " You have come back to me, and the past is forgotten. You
arc mine, my own, my second self, my soul. I have nothing to
forgive, I can only love 1 "

'■ Do you love me, Richard, after all that has happened ? " she
asked, stealing her hand half timidly up to his neck.

'• Could I live without loving you ? " he answered. " A man's love
not to be cast aside so easily, sweet wife. As soon could I live
without breathing."

" But you are ill, darling ! You are so pale, and your hands are
Using. Why did you not tell me that you were ill ?" her blue eyes
raised to his full of loving reproach.

" Why should 1, my wife ? I did not wish to trouble you. If you
h.id not come to me I should have passed away in silence and left
you in peace for ever."

"That would have been cruel ! It is cruel to think this of me,"
die said, with all her old fondness and inconsequence.

" No, wife, it would not have been cruel," he answered, smiling.

" But I wanted to see you ; 1 wanted to know all about you ; and
I knew nothing till Ringrove told tne yesterda]

"You arc here now, let us forget all the rest," he said hastily. " I
do not want the shadow of painful memories to lie on the brightness
of thb day. Sec I the very sun comes out to welcome you," he
Ided, smiling, as a sudden burst of sunshine poured through the

idow and fell over Hcrmione like a golden glory.

"And now we will never part again," she said, clinging to him.

A spasm passed over his face as he pressed her to him fondly,
ever? For how long would that symbol of eternity run?

And I will make you quite well, Richard," she went on to say,
oothing back his thick grey hair.

He smiled a little sadly.

x x 2

will
bur

676 The Gentleman's Magazine.

" If anything can make mc well, it will be thi» dear hand in
mine," he said.

" Why do you say ' if,' Richard ? You arc not really ill— only
out of health ; there is nothing really wrong with you, is there ?* she
asked in sudden fear.

" I am not quite myself, sweet wife,"' he said, " hut well enough
to know all the happiness of your rrv.irn," be added with kindly

" Well enough to live for many, many yean in this hapr i
iall be so happy, Richard : I will be always so good to
she returned.

41 For your sake I will try, dear love," he said, still smiling, bet
[me even more sadly than before.
;.d if you die I shall have killed y
■I agony.
He stopped bei month with a kiss.

'• Let the past be buried l«twecn us," he said " V/e must bury
our dead, iweet wife ; and all this sotrow is dead. Leave it who
lies, 1 kL"

•' I never knew how good you were till now ! 1 never appreciated
you ■ 1 d ! " said Hcrmionc, rat ipa

fash ! you were only too good to mc, and you were my joy
and delight," said Richard softly.

" And will be again. The old life will conic lack just as it was,"
returned.

1 up with sud<" u was? The m

of his happiness?— the continuance 0 1. ? - the «'c 1 1 being of

the men who had been ruined because of him ?— and, a I ilxat

,(.'1 Lhild, fettered in the prison-house of '-ad

to him and humanity alike— could any of I »cn luck ? Her-

self and all the old \a\ ■ :i)g found her love, yes ; but the old

it was, n.
Nothing of all this fashioned i a words; and though

Hcrmionc caught the reflection of his thought on

iily laid 1
burned as if with fire, on
through her , j hair — g

■
The to the seaside to w

■Md should I- enough I

abroad ; for when Hermione had asked him, *
and shamed, shy look

Under which Lord?

677

\bbcy? he had answered: No; at least not yet. His work was
now elsewhere, and the Abbey had passed from him.

She did not tell him that it had well-nigh passed from her too ;
and that she would soon have to give it up altogether, because she
had been txfloitit to the extent of not being able to keep it. She
would reserve all that till he got well ; meanwhile, the fust thing

rirc ihcm was to get back hi-; health.
By the seaside Richard seemed at the first really to rally by this
return to peace and love ; but it was only the delusive stimulus of
happiness. After that first burst of apparent strength he fell rapidly
back, and grew steadily weaker day by day ; but she shut her
eyes to the truth, and opened them only to the sweet flatteries of
hope. She would not believe in his danger. He was her lover once
more, as dear as in the early days, and she could not let him go.
Now that they were so happy again, how could he die ? And again,
so good as he was, how could he die, still unbelieving and impenitent ?
As yet she had carefully abstained from all attempts at conversion,
though she kept up her own devout habits, and went, if not daily, yet
often, to church. Still, she had let the question lie untouched
between them ; but one day, from what the doctor had said, heart-
broken for herself, she had become infinitely distressed about his
soul, and oh, how anxious to win from him one word of recognition
for the solemn truth* which were so real to herself I But every tentative
little effort that she made fell dead. He would not take up her more

id challenges, and when she grew bolder and insistent he kissed
her with a quiet smile, saying : —

" Let sleeping dogs lie, sweet wife ! You and I must never have
a theological discussion again."

" Only this once, Richard ! " she said, anxious, yearning,
caressing, lovingly pertinacious. " Let me send for a clergyman.
One word from him might clear your mind. God may manifest
Himself at last:"

It was about noonday when Hcrmionc said this. The sun shone
bright and warm, and the quiet lapping of the sea, just at the ebb,
came with a pleasant, soothing sound through the open window.
Pretty trifles and vases full of flowers were set about the room — that
peaceful room ! — where Hcrmionc, like some dear treasure recovered
from the spoiler, sat by the side of the couch, her husband's hand in
hers, looking at him, as both knew too well, for the last days. At the
best he could not hold out much longer, and he might die at any
moment.

It was strange how Richard's own dignity of patience had reacted

678 The GentUmaris Magazine.

on Hermione. Something seemed to have passed into her ■:.
strengthened and ennobled her as nothing else had ever done Her
very religion was more rational than before — less a superstition and
more a sentiment ; but always lying on her heart was ihc desire A
Richard should confess and be converted, even at the eleventh hoar.

" Let me send for a clergyman ! " she pleaded again, and
mentioned one well known in the place where they were. " Darting I
one little act of faith in the Christian Sacrifice— one word of Hope en
God!"

e looked into hers steadily, but with inexpressible
tender:

" Belief in the creed founded on a lie, and main: craft

and cruelty ?— where x 1 > 1" a God-man, because of God's love

for the earth, is nude (he weapon which destroys human happiness
and love? No ! I am what 1 have been, dear wife — an Agnostic,
knowing nmiiing, and refusing to affirm what I cannot pro

" But when we die, Richard ?" Tears drowned her voice.

" We go into the light of knowledge or the darkness of am
Lui" iiswered calmly. " It must be one or the other, sweet-

heart, and the laws of the universe will not be altered because one
man believes in immortality and another is content with doubt"

She sobbed bitterly.

" You are lost ! — we shall never meet again I " she said in pathetic
condemnation.

He drew her to him.

" If the God in whom you believe is true, you dishonour Him by
your distrust," he said " Why •■' . soul be sent to an eternity

of suffering because I am unable to believe 1
perfect testimony?— testimony which stultifies all experience, and is
disproved by every scientific truth?— which makes of Omnipol.
a bungler and of Omniscience a dupe ? II true, lias not

your God power to enlighten me now at the last mom

" You have neglected the means of grace offered to you, and we
have no right to expect miracles," she said.

He smiled

et me die then in peace, dear lov

"This is not peace— it is enmity with God," she said.

" !t i» the best I know :— peace with man ; forgiveness even of
him who was my enemy, and of those who stole my t
They acted according to their lights ; red

which makes such crimes as theirs possible against which I have set
mysci my work. I can do no more no\t

ntedfas-, id,"

Under which Lord? 679

"And you do not even confess God ?" said Hermione.
" I confess the Unknowable," he answered with cjuiet solemnity.
" Now kiss mc, old love," he said with a smile, " and stand in the
sunlight, just as you arc. You are made for the sunshine, sweet
wife. That glorious light ! source of all power and life ! shall we
ever know what lies beyond?" he murmured, looking up to the sun.
"Will humanity ever be delivered from superstition and set fairly in
the light?"

He kept his dying eyes still fixed on the sun — his face irradiated
with a kind of divine glory, as before his mind, marshalled in grand
and long procession, passed thoughts of the noble victories over
superstition and the glorious truths made manifest, the peace of
nations, the spread of knowledge, the abolition of vice and misery
and ignorance, the sublime light of universal freedom and the un-
fettered progress of humanity which should inform and govern the
future through the supreme triumphs of True Knowledge.

l.m the Cod incarnate !" he said ; "yes, the myth was true."
Presently he looked at his wife, but scarcely as if he saw her as
she was, rather as if he saw her and something more.

"Sweet wife 1 my little Ladybird !" he said softly with a smile.
"Good-night !"

He closed his eyes, and his head sank back among the pillow as
if he were sleeping. Hermione bent over him, her tears falling
silently on his face, lie did not seem to feel them. So quiet, so
placid, so pale and peaceful as he looked, he might have been already
dead but for his faint breathing, and once a little smile that crossed
la face Once, too, she heard him say in a low murmur : " My
men, speak out the Truth;" and again : " Refuse to believe a. lie,
By friends. If it cost you your lives, refuse."

After this he said no more, but continued to sleep so quietly that
she dare scarcely breathe for fear of awakening him.

His noble face was verily sublime in its grand tranquillity. Ills
Aid grey liair was spread on the cushion in shining locks that stood
*nj from his broad brow like an aureole of silver ; his full lips were
Jjjghtly parted ; one hand was quietly lying on his breast, the other
i» his wife's. The whole attitude was one of perfect peace, of tin-
troubled, dreamless repose. Presently a change came over him ;
nolle, undefined, to be felt rather than seen — a change which showed
that something had gone. His life — and what beside?

She stooped to listen to his breathing — to feel his heart : — all was
suH and silent She laid her head on his breast — no answering
throb of love welcomed her to her old resting-place ; she took his

68o

The Gentleman 's Maga

il( Hal

whwi

lewbdi
Ccrrol

hand— it lay powerless in hers ; she kissed his lips— no warm response
came from them ; and when she carried his head to her bosom and
held it clasped there for long long minutes, no colour came bock to
the pale cheeks beneath her kisses, the closed eyes did not open
to her voice. Hushed, almost tearless, with strange and revcreat
patience, she laid him down again as tenderly as if a rough move-
ment would have wakened him, and sank on her knees beside the
couch. Passion and the violence of despair would have been a
desecration about that quiet death ; it must be only love and patience
in harmony with the life that had passed away. But she lifted i»
her eyes to heaven and said aloud, with a strange kind of belief that
her ] lid ,l>e answered : " O God, receive the soul

wanted only Thy light to be made perfect :"

I yet it was a perplexing mystery to her for years to comei
she rememlwretl the agony and torment in which Theresa, a fe
Catholic, had died after receiving the Blessed Sacrament and Absofa-
lion ; while Richard, an infidel professing Agnosticism to the but,
passed away with the serenity of Socrates or a saint already in glory.
And now to reckon up the loss and gain of this tragic barter.
For herself she had lost husband, child, money, place, and the
finest flavour of her womanly repute. But she had gained the bless-
ing of the Church which denies science, asserts impossibilities, and
refuses to admit the evidence of facts. For Mr. Lasccllcs, what had
he gained as the equivalent for the misery he had occasioned? Net
so very much, when all was told. After his marriage, things went
back into the old groove, and the excited teal of Crossholme came
to an end. The women, with no special desire now to win Superior's
ir, took up again their fluffs and flounces, their glaring colours
and frivolous ornaments. The salt waters of worldlinen stole

k upon the redeemed lands, and Kdith, a
Lasccllcs, had no power to speak of The men, no longer pressed
on by the women, fell off in their church duties ; 1 dried by

tin OM of pious bribes, the parish lost its former m

d the break-up of such a body a lierton's

helped to bring things still nearer to low-water-mark.
Cutlibert sold his estate to a Roman Catholic who

i 0 pick up the Anglican stragglers ; — of whon

nt She entered a convent, where she was
\f enough— an Iml 'ho saw

convent
walls DO something to talk abo

rrmer nunly
Vs had been

whom Aaat

Under which Lord?

68 1

countenance to the Ncsbitts and Ringiovc, and helped in putting on
the break whenever it was possible. But, in truth, after his marriage,
Mr. Lascellcs himself modified his more extreme practices. He was
looking for preferment, as enabling him to be more useful to his
party ; and he recognised the wisdom of drawing in so far as not to
be counted with the Irreconcileables. When he reckoned up his
gains — lx>ught by the death of Richard and Theresa, the perversion
of Sister Agnes, Virginia, Cuthbert, and Aunt Catherine, the
destruction of Richard's men, the impoverishment and life-long
loneliness of Hermione — he found : — a church far too magnificent
for the population ; a Convalescent Home and sundry ritualistic
establishments which could not be kept up and were abandoned by
his successor ; and, as the permanent good, an increase of endow-
ment which raised the value of the living to over fifteen hundred a
year.

When all was over, Hermione went abroad, and in due time
found herself in Rome. The day after her arrival, she went to the
church where the Pregalrice for ever adore the Holy Sacrament, and
nherc Virginia was now a professed nun.

As she was kneeling by the grating, two nuns came in to replace
those whose function had ceased. The one was dressed in pale blue,
the other in black ; the one was Virginia, and the older woman by her
side was Sister Agnes. Did they recognise Hermione kneeling there,
in her heavy widow's mourning ? Did they hear her sudden sob, her
startled cry, and see her hands outstretched to her child, as she came
with bent head and clasped hands to her station? Who knows?
No sign of recognition was made ; only Virginia became suddenly
paler even than before. But she went through her prayers and
psalms with an ecstatic passion of devotion that seemed to wrap her
very soul away. Home and parents were alike forgotten ; her father's
death, her mother's tears — nothing touched her, absorbed as she
was in the adoration of a mystery — the worship of the Divine Sacrifice.
She was as dead to Hermione as was Richard himself; and her
mother felt she would almost rather have known her to be in name
what she was in essential fact

Hennione knelt before the altar till Virginia's function was over,
and she and Sister Agnes had left. Then she rose from her knees
and turned to go. The darkness of the early winter evenings had
come on, and she stood by the church door uncertain which way to
take. How desolate she felt— a solitary woman, childless and a
widow, alone in this strange, solemn city— alone in this wide, empty
world! Had >he done well after all? She had given the victory

682 The Gentleman 's Magazine.

the Church ; had the conditions imposed by the victor been right-
eous? Love, home, happiness, her husband and her child — these
had been the forfeits claimed, the tribute cast into the treasury of the
Lord under whom she had elected to serve. Had it been a holy
sacrifice of the baser human affections to the nobler spiritual aspira-
tions? or had it been the cruelty of superstition — the inhuman
blindness of fanaticism ?

(The End.)

THE WANTS OF IRELAND

A T the present moment Ireland occupies much of the thoughts, hut
l~\ rarely the lips, of English Statesmen. Willi that which seems
to me imprudence, they leave the public expression of the wants of
Ireland, in this time of deep and increasing distress, mainly to Mr.
Pamcll. I will not hesitate to express my conviction that there is a
lack of courage in this silence which is to be regretted. The only
positive statement concerning Ireland from the mouth of a respon-
sible Statesman has been that made by Mr. Bright at Manchester,
to the effect that further legislation is needed with reference to
agricultural land. I shall show that the state of Ireland calls for
serious attention, and for the earnest application of legislative
remedies ; that to leave Ireland alone at this moment to seethe in
discontent and disaffection is unjust and impolitic. No triumph
can be more facile than that lately achieved by Mr. Fawcett. Yet,
perhaps nothing could be more unfortunate than that the issue sug-
gested by Mr. Fawcett should obscure the more generally accepted
claims of Ireland. Nothing would tend more surely to forward the
separatist movement than that English jwliticians should proclaim that
the question of Home Rule is the only question between England and
Ireland. Before putting the matter in the most disadvantageous and
irritating form, Mr. Fawcett would do well to have regard to some of
the grievances of Ireland, especially to those which arc due to neglect,
indifference, or injustice at Westminster. Surely the most evident
dictates of prudence demand tliat we should first see what can be
fairly alleged against the Imperial Parliament as regards its work for
Ireland, before we enter upon the question of separate Legislatures.

It is this task which I propose to undertake. I shall not, within
the necessary limits of an article, be able to make a complete state-
ment, but I shall not fail to show that the material interests of order
and of production, as well as the higher concerns of justice and
equity, have been neglected in regard to Ireland, and that one of
the most imperative obligations of Parliament is to undertake without
delay the consideration of certain matters which I shall indicate in
very imperfect detail. It may give me some claim to attention if I

684

The Gentleman's Magazine.

am permitted to say that this is no new consideration with
From 1868 to 1874, when I conducted a daily journal luving a toy
large circulation in London, I made some small efforts to obtain bit
consideration for the wants of Ireland, and for this I was abundantly
rewarded by the words of an Irishman who was but little know is
England outside the House of Commons, lr.it who, as a membaof
thai House, won the respect of men of all parties, and was acbot-
ledged, by those who regarded his strongest opinions as mistaken,*
be admirable for the elevation of his sentiments and for the self-
respect which dignified his conduct — 1 allude to the bte John Mini*,
member for the County Wcstmeath. Mr. Martin did me the honw
to address a letter to mc in which he acknowledged that my jcunal
had been distinguished by a spirit of courtesy and fairness in deaSaj
with Irish questions. I believe that spirit is active in the minditf
a large number of those Englishmen who have taken thought con-
cerning the immense importance to us all of the prosperity and
Contentment of Ireland.

Much has appeared lately with reference to the political actxe of
the Irish in Great Britain ; and when we consider what is their nume-
rical strength in this island, 1 fancy that not only those who arc Jut
but those who are prudent will listen to their complaints. I hi*
obtained from Dr. Neilson Hancock, of Dublin, trustworthy sUtHtJcs
which show that in the census of 1871, the persons of Irish birth in
Scotland were 207,770 in number, those in England and Wxlfl
566,540; making together a total of 774,310. This large factor ino*
population was, however, very peculiar as to age. Of the «We
number <.l" persons of Irish birth in England and Wales, only 6r.6ri
were under so years of age ; 498,733 were of ao years of age an*
upwards. If the 207,770 of Irish birth in Scotland were in aiimito
position in regard to age, which it is reasonable to suppose w» ^*
case, there would be more than 184,000 of 20 years and upward*—
making in Great Britain a total of more than 682,000 of Irish butstf
20 years and upwards. At the same time there were of that tgt'a
Ireland only 2,900,000 persons of Irish birth. The result, therefore,
of Dr. Hancock's calculations is that of Irish in the United King-
dom, of the age of 20 years and upwards, considerably more thu>
one-fifth reside in Great Britain. That is a fact which I think don
not receive sufficient attention at the hands of some Enghsh mi
Scotch politicians.

To the circumstances of the present time in Ireland, anang*
great part from the prevalent agricultural distress, I must mike sew
allusion before passing on to deal with the general relation* of b"*-

The Wants of Ireland.

685

and tenant in Ireland. The agricultural distress is enlarging,
but indications of distress have been observed during the last three
years. From the latest statistics relative to savings and poor-law n lief
in Ireland, wc lcam that the deposits and cash balances in joint-
stock banks show a falhng-off of .£1,55.1,000 : from ^31,745,000 at
Midsummer 1878, to ,£30,191,000 at Midsummer 1879. The last
preceding year when there was a falling-off in bank deposits at all
comparable to this, was the very unfavourable year of 1863. The
falling off then was ,£1,422,000. The Trustee Savings Banks show
a decrexse in deposits for the first six months of 1879, of .£92,000 :
from ,£2,208,000 in 1878,10 ,£2,116,000 in 1879; indicating that
the pressure which had affected bank deposits has reached the artisan
and servant class in the 36 chief towns where these banks are situate.
At Midsummer 1879 the number in receipt of poor relief, in work-
houses and outdoor, was 6,156 above the number in the preceding
year. The statistics of crime in Ireland continue to exhibit the
well-known features. Serious crimes committed against property are
much fewer in Ireland than in England, and very much fewer than in
Scotland. The Scotch offences against morals are double the number
of the Irish — 2S1 as compared with 142. "In the most serious
punishments," says Dr. Hancock, " the comparison of Irish with
French, English, and Scotch proportional figures is as follows : —

•• (a) Those tentenced to Imprisonment for one year and upwards were, fur ihc
tunc population in Ireland, S7 ; in France, 220; In Scotland, 241 | In Eat.
lu>d, 266.

" (») The Irish figure of sentences to penal servitude was 170; llic Scotch,
198 ; the French, 284 ; and the English, 364.

| In sentences of death, the Scotch figure was o, the Irish 2. the French 3,
tad the English $."

With regard to the agitating question of reduction of rent, that
cannot be treated as invariable, because agricultural rents are very
unequal, and in no part of the United Kingdom so much so as in
Ireland. The rent in Ireland is, unquestionably, in many cases
largely composed of the value of tenants' improvements. I know
of no part of Europe in which landlords have obtained so large a
share of the fruits of the soil, and have done so little to promote and
to increase the best cultivation and the produce, as in Ireland. In
this respect Irish agriculture differs widely from that of England and
Scotland. I do not wish to see the small fanners disturbed in their
holdings : I would rather sec their number increased. Ireland, with
reformed and rational land laws, would be all the better for another
million of agricultural population. I should like to see some of her

millic

686

The Gentleman's Magazine.

sons and daughters returning to retake possession of their fatherland,
and I will presently quote evidence of the very highest authority,
stowing how and why this increase of population is desirable and
would be advantageous from an economic point of view. But before
going into that matter, which is connected with the general relations
of landlord and tenant, it is desirable that there should be a clear
understanding u to what it is, together with the immediate pressure
of cruelly hard limes, which almost disturbs the reason of the Irish
farmer, and 1 will state it very briefly. In Ulster, if a tenant cannot
pay his rent, he docs not lose that which is equivalent to compen-
sation upon ejectment. But over all the rest of Ireland, if a tenant
cannot in these severe times pay his rent, he may be with

loss of the compensation which Mr. Gladstone's Land Act awards for
disturbance. Now, it is a fact, which may be read upon the face of
that Act, that Irish landlords have a patent and plain interest in
clearing their lands of the smaller tenants, while there can lie no doubt
that to these tenants eviction may imply a sentence to pauperism ;
and if they arc evicted without compensation, the proceeding prob-
ably involves the confiscation of much of the work of th< Hie
scale of compensation for disturbance to be given by landlords to
tenants under the provisions of the Land Act decreases as the rent
becomes larger; and while a landlord must give seven years' ret) I
ejecUncnt, except for non-payment of rent, to a tenant paying ^10
and under, he gives only one year's rent to a tenant paying j£joo.

This condition of security in one province, and of insci
the other three provinces of Ireland, may be well illustrated by
case of Lord Headfort, who, I believe, is a good landlord, and w
has lately, together with his agent, received threatening Icttcm That
nobleman has two estates, serrated only by the inuuj i which

divides the counties of Meath and

ship' ■ i itc can sell the tenant-right of bis farm; he ca i

ejected for non-payment of rent without such an amon- [icnsa-

tion as would enable him to emigi in any case, would tecum

him from destitution. But i.

cisc of inability to pay rent, the 1 with Iom

of that compensation which the Land Act is supposed by tome
peop! i ountry to have secured to them under any <

stances of disturbance. It will appear strange, n

lot the word " compensation " should
connect^ a tenant

the J'
presently nuke full I more dearly t-

The Wants of Ireland.

6S7

extraordinary position of Landlord and tenant in Ireland. It may
be supposed thai small tenants in the circumstances of those upon
Lord Headfort's Meath property feel that they arc in some jeopardy.
There can, however, be no reason to fear that so upright a landlord
as Lord Headfort would take any advantage of their necessities; and
in relation to my argument it is no small assistance that I am able to
quote evidence recently given before the Select Committee appo!
to inquire into the operation of the Bright clauses of the 1 tod rV 1,
by Lord Headfort's agent, of whom he wrote lately M "my \
and lamented kinsman, Major Dalton." Speaking of these two

., Major Dalton said that " on the Cavan estate, where tenant-
right exists, the tenantry arc in a more thriving condition than on the
Meath property ; and he thought the lateral thus conceded to the
tenants had been an incentive to industry and thrift, and had imyu> ;i
status to tin rs, who feel invested with a fuasi property ■" the

Land." It should be observed that there has been no disturbance
upon Lord ft Cavan estate, and this bet alone iiiu.:

people to wish to know more of the Ulster custom. t, the

too Implies continuoM occupancy, a fair rent, and ■ 1
of sale. The tenant holds the land as long as he pays the rent. A
fair rent is a rent which docs not on the one side confiscate the
tenant's improvements, nor deprive the landlord of the progressive
value of his estate, due to material progress of the country. The
power of selling tenant-right is the right to sell by public auction or
private contract the occupancy of the farm, subject, of course, W (he
discharge of all arrears of rent, and to the purcliaser being a solvent
and acceptable person. Lord Headfort'* late agent, continuing his
evidence, said he was strongly in favour of creating a peasant pro-
prietary in Ireland. This is what he said : — " I think it would be a
most conservative measure— not using the word in a political sense —
but as giving the occupiers of land that which they have DOl
namely, an attachment to the Constitution under which they live."
Considering that the Chancellor of the Exchequer appears to have
gone over to Ireland mainly for the purpose of sneering at this most
conservative measure, v. iblishcd by a thorough

reform of the land laws of the United Kingdom, and by the
effective operation of those clauses of the Land Act which be
honoured name of Mr. Bright, it is well not to use the word in a
tment of Ireland by the present Govcrnim nt
has been, as I the scandals of the Adn;

But, before I pass to the consideration of the general poli'

:d, there is one class of landlords to whom I wish to make

688 The Gentleman's Magazine.

particular allusion— I mean the absentee Uu: who

drain an agricultm of rent, Mid return little or p ■■ the

shape of cx[" I think many, if not all. would do «•■

follow the policy of Lord Derby, age for the sale, in part i

of their properties ; yet if all made the outlay which the Late Lord
Derby, I believe, annually I upon 3 here

would be less cause foi There must be, I fear, during

the approaching winter, deep distress in ry heavy

burdens. it ratepayers. 1 should like to

know what, in these circumstance*, trill be the contribution of the
absentee landlord* — the gi iy, from

j£i,ooo to ,£20,000 a year from the soil of Ireland ? If Parliament
were sitting — and in my opu •: are very special reasons wii

should be sitting at the present time — I would suggest that inquiry
be made of Lord Bcaconsficld as to v. a of the

following proposition, which I will quote from a well known
work : — " I cannot help expressing a wish that some arrangement
may be made connected with the levying of the poor-rate in Ireland
by which absentee landlords may be made to contribute in something
like a fair proportion to the wants of the poor in the II in

which they ought to reside. I think if there were two poor-rates
introduced into Ireland, the one applying to all occupiers of land, and
the other to all those who did not spend a certain portion of the j
upon some portion of their estates in Ireland, it would prove useful
think thai bj thus appealing to their interests it might induce absentee
landlords to reside much more in Ireland than is now unfortun.'

case." That is not my proposition. Perhaps if a Liberal
politician were to make such a proposal it would be called " com-
monistic," Those are words spoken in the House of Commons by
a former leader of the Conservative party, and published, with great
eulogy of their author, by I-ord Ikaconsficld in his bioj:
friend and leader, Lord George Hcntinck. I have no doubt what-
ever that if those words had issued lately from the lij >ih
Of Partial] i y ugly things been said of
them which nill not be said because they belong to a i
noblema;: . to say this of the
suggestion, that n : nun a proposal

ad lo abolish (hat whii
George licntinck'* short way with al be sound or

unsound, is, as every one admits, a sore di

Pas to die gei

got;. ut ten years have elapse <

The Wants of Ireland.

689

possession of great power, said at the Guildhall, "The heart of
Ireland has yet to be WO BVG wc won it yet ? No one will

Reply in the affirmative- Ten years have gone by, fruitful of oppor-
tunity, and still it must be said, "The heart of Ireland has yet to be
won." I doubt — nay, I am certain, that all our ways to win that heart
have not been framed upon true principles of equality and justice.
Wc have, by a clause of the Irish Church Act, disestablished that
which Lord Bcaconsficld once called "an alien Church," an<l by
other provisions of the same statute wc have re-established that
Church as the greatest and richest corporation in Ireland, under Ihe
title of ihe Church Body. In regard to the Load Act, Mr, Gladstone
did the best he could in a Parliament which, for 200 years, has been
composed, as to the majority, of very determined representatives of
what i- celled the landed interest. But he did not do enough. He
left the Irish farmer — and, I may add, he left Irish agriculture, 1
concern* every man in England — a prey to that tenure of v.
DuiTerin, a great Ulster proprietor, and a thorough Irishman,
Bed in the House of Ix>rds : '"What is the spectacle presented
to us by Ireland ? It is that of millions of persons, whose only
dependence and whose chief occupation u agrw allure Ibr the
part cultivating their lands — that is, sinking their post, their pre* Dl
and their future upon yearly tcnam I 1 :> hat is a year :

Why, it is an impossible tenure— a iiich. if its terms were to

be literally interpreted, no Christian man would offer and none
madman would accept" From the figures of the leading Dl

..dan of Ireland, it Bppei no fewer than 75 per

cent., or 440,000, of the tenant farmers of Ireland, hold their hinds
upon this insane and a • tenure, of which Adam

wrote: "It is against all reason and probability to suppose that
yearly tenants will improve the soil." I ten generally, I have

found, have but slight knowledge of the dearth of other indu
Ireland, and of the fearful obligations by which Irishmen are I

g to the occupation of the soil. I dare say but I ihmen

know inui h about conacre, by which a man hues a part of the
of some landlord or of some large farmer during the growth Dl
be purpose of harvesting, the crop, whether of com, ii
potatoes. Not long ago, when I was a visitor in the house of an
Irish landlord, who is a member of the House of Peers, his lordship

nn his window towards some meadows, and said to
*• Would you believe it, such is the hunger of these people for land,
that I could let those meadows in conacre for more than I cool
for the crop, after I have paid the cost of making the hay and of sending
VOL. CCXLV. >>o. i;BS. v Y

690

The Gentleman's Magazine.

it to market?" Through the operation of what Mr. Cobdcn called
free trade in land, that hunger, which it is so distressing to roe to
witness, would be satisfied by the transfer, through processes bene-
ficial alike both to landlord and tenant, of the greater part of the toil
of Ireland into the hands of the people. I am thankful beyond toy
powers of expression to sec that our land laws have become mi
intolerable burden to Englishmen as well as to Irishmen, and tha
both arc beginning to comprehend that we cannot possibly prosper
in competitive trade while four-fifths of the land of the United
Kingdom is bound in the unfertile bonds of strict settlement. I
long for the on of the soil of this country, and not less far

the freedom of the land of Ireland from those fetters which so cruelly
gall the agriculture of both island*.

We ought now to consider the condii I what are

the peculiar apart from the unusual circumsi if the

moment, of I isbandry? With refcren estion. 1

propose to cite two witnesses, one of the highest aul
the other of not less eminence in Great Britain ie for the

complan rmert, the Government have administered a Royal

Commission — a IP form of treatment, because it will take at

least three years to operate. Hut when it was sought to dignify thai
Commission by entrusting the practical inquiry in Ireland to s
gentleman whose name would command respect, the Government
fixed upon Professor Baldwin, of Gla? left.

We arc, however, already in possession of Mr. Baldwin's opinions
upon Irish farming. Mr. Baldwin has reported to the i
Executive that "wide areas of land in Ireland are not yielding a fourth
of the produce which could be obtained from them. 'I
of a vast number of small farmers in Ireland arc wretched. In
age of progress it is unsatisfactory to find that there arc in Ireland very
many small farmers with large families whose dwellings consist of a
single apartment, in which cattle and pigs arc also housed. '1 1
arc 4.000,000 acres of medium land) now growing poor herbage;
which would pay far better in tillage 1 tent, th.

of these 4,000,000 acres docs not amount to
under a proper system, the yield woi

and the wealth of the country would be increased to the 1
several millions. The want of drainage :ig defect in Irish

agriculture. In it least 6,000,000 acres at

drainage This work con

jCj.ooo.ooo.*

W( ' i to consider what thi .

The Wants of Ireland. 691

two years in advance of the report of the Government
Commission, their distinguished assistant's views concerning the
agriculture of Ireland, and he condemns as wasteful the reckless
system of converting tillage into pasture which boa driven hundreds
of thousands of Irish people from their country, and which threatens
to make of Ireland a green desert. How is it possible to exaggerate
the benefit which would result from enlarging the income from Irish
agriculture " to the extent of several millions " ? Willi regard to the
labour requisite to obtain this result, Mr. Baldwin continues:
u Many persons will ask, Where is all the capital to execute this work
to come from ? I answer, that the greater part of it is in the labour of
the people. The working farmers of Ireland have a great deal of
labour in their families, which could be most usefully employed in
draining their lands." Mr. Baldwin's conclusions arc of die greatest
importance. He says: "Every experienced agriculturist will agree
that the smaller fanners of Ireland could, by adopting modes of
management which are within their reach, double their income."
And why, then, do they not double their income ? Mr. Baldwin tells
us in the fewest words. He says the small farmers fear that any
improvement in their agriculture would be taken hold of by their
landlords "as a cloak for raising rents." There it is; that is the
matter with which we must deal, not more for the sake of the Irish
farmer than for the interest of the whole community. The cause of
the backward and unproductive condition of Irish agriculture is
declared upon the authority of the man selected by their Graces
ind their Lordships of the Government Commission to be the fear
that the landlords will confiscate improvements.

It now and then happens that partisans of abuses in the land
laws, finding a few cases in which even Irish freeholders are un-
thrifty, bad farmers, where such persons show a tendency to injurious
subdivision of small properties, parade these cases in the Times as
if they were in some way or other conclusive against the arguments
of reformers. The fact is that the proper management of small
farms is a habit of slow growth, and one which cannot coexist with
the land system of the United Kingdom. The destruction of their
argument is the invariable tendency to increase of production and
to avoidance of minute subdivision which small farmers display in
all countries where they have been long and widely established.
There are gentlemen, even in Ireland, who have a vague idea that
at the time of the famine of 184G Ireland was a land of peasant
proprietors. They have a notion that peasant proprietory has been
tried in Ireland and has proved a failure. But, as Mr. Thornton

V V3

6;2 The Gen tU man's Magazine.

" In Tact, Ireland U one of the few country, in u Iiich Ibm
ithes are, nor ever were, peasant proprietors. I-'rom the earliest
appropriation of the soil down to the lay estates have always

been of considerable sire; and though these estates arc now cat up
into many small holdings, the actual occupiers of the soil, far U
being owners, are not even leaseholders, but arc rack-rented tenants
at i> ill. In this single phrase may be found a complete cxplanauoa
of all the evils of their condition, and of all the defects of tbor
If any one is inclined to doubt the accuracy of tad
opinion, he would do well to study thi cmomy of th*

Channel [stand*, the only part of the United Kingdom where the
1 1 factorship of land il widely distribute*! among the people.
Those people differ somewhat in r:icc from the I , that

respect they are more nearly allied to die Irivh, and in the Channel
Llands there is agricultural prosperity anil prod ,uallcd ia

any other part of Her Majesty's dominions. There are some pcofst
who arc ready at any moment, and without any consideration, to ssy
that Ireland with 5,500,000 people has still too many. I do not
undertake to say that Ireland should be half as thickly rtopulatcd a»
Jersey, but Ireland would certainly not appear to l»c over*populatcd
if she could obtain reform of the desolating land laws of the Untied
Kingdom, and it is evident that if unhappy Ireland were populalrd
in the ortion to area as is happy Jersey, she would have

nearly 30,000,000 of people within her borders.

I believe that with regard to Irish agriculture the problem to be
considered is this : How can the Irish farmer best obtain security of
tenure at a fair rent? And it is in dealing with tlut qu n I

propose to cite my second witness, who u I .minority

upon agriculture in Great Britain — I mean Mr. Cain) Last year
Mr. Caird was asked by the Council of the K mal

Society, a body including the Prince of Wales and leading re.
sentatives of (he great nobility and Landed gentry of England
report u|»n die agriculture of the United Kingdom lor the inform-
ation of the world, then assumed to be assembled somewhere about
the Champ dc Mars in Paris. This i iccnunx,

ind : "In 'he relation between landlord and tcnan'

altogether different from that of Eng!

the famine of 1846, the great landowners wctc non •• md the

load wai re in the hands < -

leases foi tve to subdivide and sublet fi

I no permanent interest in the proper'

ns to make an income out of it at the least cost, and their inter-
mediate position severed the otherwise natural connection between
landlord and tenant. The (amine of 1846 prostrated the class of
middlemen entirely, and brought the landowners and the real tenants
face to face. But the hold which the latter had been permitted to
obtain led them to consider the landowners very much as only the
holders of the first charge upon the land, and they were in the habit
of selling and buying their farms among themselves, subject to this
charge — a course which, as a matter of practice, was tacitly accepted
by the landowner. He had security for his rent in the money paid
by an incoming tenant, who for his own safety required the land-
owner's consent to the change of tenancy ; and the landowner's agent
§us received the 'price' of the farm— for that was the term used —
d handed it over to the outgoing tenant, after deducting all arrears of
rent. This suited the convenience of landowners, the most of whom had
no money to spend in improvements, many of them non-resident and
taking little interest in the country, and dealing with a numerous
body of small tenants with whom they seldom came into personal
contact. In the north of Ireland, this custom of sale became legally
recognised as tenant-right. The want of it in other parts of Ireland
produced an agitation which ultimately led to the Irish Land Art,
under which legislative protection is given to customs capable of
proof. The custom of ' selling ' the farm, subject to the approval
the landowner, by a tenant on yearly tenure, is rapidly gaining
and in Ireland ; and so firmly arc the people imbued with this
of their rights, that the clauses of the Irish Land Act which
tMe the tenant by the aid of a loan of Government money on
easy terms to purchase the proper ownership of his farm, aie
:ly acted upon, from the belief that the farm is already his under
the burden of a moderate rent-charge to his nominal landlord. Cir-
cumstances have thus brought about a situation in which the land-
cannot deal with the same freedom with his property as in
ad or Scotland, either in die selection of his tenants or in the
readjustment of rent ; and this has in a great measure arisen
naturally from the neglect by the landlord of his proper duties in not
himself executing those indispensable permanent improvements which
the tenant was thus obliged to undertake, and who in this way estab-
lished for himself a claim to co-partnership in the soil itself." That
report was accepted by the Council of the Royal Agricultural Society;
and in sight of that fact and of Mr. Caird's admirable and conclusive
statement, I cannot understand how men like the Duke of Richmond,
who are leading members of that Council, can refuse to take into

694 TIu Gentleman's Magazine.

consideration, or to undertake without delay, a measure for girfaj
security of tenure to Irish farmer*. I should have supposed that ii
any one had not been ready to give an earnest and hopeful coo-
sidcration to a reasonable proposal for carrying out that which is
miscalled fixity of tenure, the statement of Mr. Caird would hare
convinced him that it was his duty to take that course. The land
question U t! n of questions for Ireland and for Irishmen.

If Englishmen will not have regard to it, can we wonder that Irish*
men say : " Let us have a Parliament in Dublin, and we will do k
for ourselves"? ' nancy has meant in Ireland, that the pea-

santry were to accomplish all the improvements of die land, to do
the drainage and I which in England and Scotland fall upon

the landlord ; ami they have had to do this without security of
tenure, and to be subject to the competition of a half-starving pcpttli-
tion. If ever there was in this world a school, framed and fenced bj
law, for the encouragement of idleness, of dishonesty, and of imprc
vitlcn. c, that I il in the land system of Inland.

The evidence of Mr. Baldwin, which I have quoted, showi
that the conversion of arable land into pasture, and the consequcBt
depopulation of the country, have been injurious to the interests of
production. I read not very long since in the Times a statement that
in the county of Wexford alone more than 350,000 acres bad goes
out of cultivation— that is, I suppose, had bee into

ture— within 30 years; that, within the Ban d, the popusv

lation of that county had decreased by 70,000, and thi :han

9,000 houses had been levelled to the ground. It ran hardly bt
doubted that such a statement is calculated to excite very hitter
feelings in the minds of Irishmen, especially when they realise, at an
intelligent people must realise, that this change is not due to the
natural operation of economic laws, but is rather the consequence of
laws and customs with reference to the tenure and transfer of pro-
perty in land, which prevail in no other part of the world

I ri'gard the happiness and contentment of the lri»h people as of the
highest importance to their neighbours and fellow-subjects in England ,
and am deliberately of opinion that these great concern',
been neglected by Her Majesty's Ministers in that they hare failed to
do that for which they have had abundant opportunity — to repair the
ine id therefore the injustice, of legislation a- .'".of-

land and Ireland With every circumstance of centum .ult,

Conserv. -cted the just claim

to electoral equality in 1S78— an outrage sufficient m itself 1

ius disaffection in Ireland With every insinuation of jcal

The Wants of Ireland. 695

xnd suspicion, the standing Conservatism of the House of Lords
rejected the proposal to allow Irish Volunteer Corps which was
made this year, though the measure was approved by Liberal States-
men so responsible as Lord Spencer and Lord Carlingford. Then
there is the question of county government in Ireland, upon which
nothing has been done, though at the very outset of his Parlia-
mentary career. Lord Bcaconsficld did not hesitate to denounce
" those jobbing grand juries." There is, too, the important and un-
considered matter of poor-law relief. Few Englishmen are, I think,
aware how great and reasonable a cause of dissatisfaction to Irish-
men is found in the inequality of the poor-law in the two islands.
This, it may be said, affects the Irish gentry as well as the mass of
the Irish people, whether resident in that country or in Great Britain.
By constituting the local gentry into boards of guardians upon the
English model, and then tying their hands by statute from doing that
which English guardians are permitted to do, Her Majesty's Govern-
ment does its worst to make trie Irish gentry present a bad appearance.
The Irish poor, when they see or hear what guardians do in England,
and arc told that guardians in Ireland are prevented by law from
doing the same thing, arc apt to think that this is a pretext, and that
they and their families arc sacrificed to some selfish interest. I
observed that lately the Catholic Bishop and clergy of Kilmorc
signed a memorial urging the immediate necessity of providing em-
ployment for the destitute. Here, in England, a board of guardians
could deal with an application of that sort. In Ireland they cannot,
because Parliament, I suppose in the interest of absentee proprietors,
has withheld any such power. Then, again, if we take the fact that this
Roman Catholic Bishop and his clergy — good men, who, in language
of obvious sincerity, were advocating moderation and respect for the
law — are obliged to address local boards as outsiders. In England
clergy are eligible to such boards ; in Scotland the clergy arc ex officio
members of local boards. In Ireland the Catholic clergy are excluded
by statute— an unjust exclusion of which I, as an Englishman, am
ashamed. I agree with Daniel O'Connell when he said : " I care not
of what caste, or creed, or colour, any human being may be ; I claim
for him the rights, the privileges, the protection that are due to man."
Snch injustice, so long as it exists, renders concord between the two
islands impossible. Then, again, in Scotland and in England, the
Irish poor are exposed to peculiar and trying hardships from the poor-
law. There arc serious and perplexing differences in the laws of the
three countries in regard to relief. Take the great matter of educa-
tion. No Englishman ought to be offended with me if I confess that

60S

696 The Gentleman's Magazine.

I think the Irish superior in natural quickness of intelligence an
some of the graces due in others to education. But because they
have nothing like that great code of laws which we have developed
for ourselves within the last nine years, Ireland has i.illen far bebiad
in regard to education. While in Scotland and in England, the State-

ed schools show an increase of 70 and 80 per cent, respectively in
daily attendance between the years 1870-70, the Irish nations!
schools show an increase of no more than 1 6 per cent This back-
wardness is observed also in the latest statistics with regard to the
education of prisoners. As to criminals, men and boys, who could
not write, in Ireland, England, and in France, the proportioi
France, ao per cent. ; in Kngland, 30 per cent ; and in Ireland,
38 per cent.

We often hear it said that the Irish arc improvident. I think that if
the devil wished to make a people careless and unthrifty, the two
weapons he would find best suited to his evil work would be those
to which the Irish people arc subject — small holdings as cottier-
tenant i at will, with rack rentals, and every possible uncertainty and
complexity in the administration of the poor-law. See what the
Irish can do when they have security and justice! Sec them in New
Zealand, where, as the late Dishop of Lichfield said of them : ■ In
New Zealand, the English, Scotch, and Irish people live together 00
the best of terms. The qualities of each class :ether for the

improvement of all. No disputes as to tenant-right can arise,
because every tenant has the right of purchasing the land he holds at
a fixed price. Under these circumstances, the tenants strain every
nerve to become owners of the land they occupy." That is what
Irish people can do when they have fair play. The Governments of
the United Kingdom, both Liberal and Conservative, have not been
just to Ireland. They have disregarded the words <■' '<t\

Peel, who said that, " in his opinion, there ought to be established
between England and Ireland complete equality in all uni-

cipal, and political rights, so that no person viewing Ireland with
perfectly disinterested eyes should be enabled to say a different Law
is enacted for Ireland, and, on account of some jealousy or suspicion,
Ireland has curtailed and mutilated righ t t» the ,

which Englishmen should unite with Irishmen in the work of legisla-
tion Bui icy have failed to display that sense of justice.

J was much struck with what took place at the recent meeting of

ution in Dublin. Mr. Jephson read a paper upon

lultaneous and Identical Legislation for

England and Ireland," on which Mr. l'im, a well-known Protestant

The Wants of Ireland. 697

etiien of Dublin, who formerly represented that city in Parliament,
did " there was no security for Ireland except by complete identifi-
cation or complete separation, and he did not know any argument so
strong for the repeal of the Union, or whatever it might be called in
this country, as the fact that separation of legislation still continues,
and that the efforts of associations like the Irish Statistical Society to
produce any important change have been so unavailing." Another
g«ntleman referred to the difference in the franchise law, and
regretted " that the assimilation of the borough franchise in Ireland
and England had been, for party purposes, rejected." An Irishman
suggested that they could do nothing " unless they raised the
English people to the level of the Irish." Whatever the Irish level
maybe, I want Englishmen to be just, for the happiness and welfare of
both islands. Following these reasonable complaints made at the
meeting of the British Association, the Times denounced " the bad
habit of excluding Ireland " when useful reforms were enacted for
England, and accounted for the frequent neglect in words which
must have caused Anglo-Irish officials to blush for shame. The
77wj said there were generally some special Acts existing for Ireland,
and " therefore not easily found, which would have to be looked up
and carefully cited. The most convenient course in such a difficulty
was to strike Ireland out of the Bill, and leave it to the Irish Govern-
ment at some future date to introduce a Bill for Ireland, differing
from the original Bill in little more than the date and a few official
names." What a deep reproach is this against our government of
Ireland ! Can we wonder that Irishmen want to take matters into
their own hands, when such a confession, made in the leading journal
of England, attracts but very little attention ! How, for example,
can Lord Caims excuse himself for not making his Iuind Transfer
Act of 1875 applicable to Ireland, or for the first introduction of the
Criminal Code Bill without application to Ireland? Englishmen
must take to heart and legislate in the spirit of Mr. Gladstone's
words, when he said : " There arc common questions which must
be administered upon principles common to the whole empire, — all
those questions in which the interests of the whole overbear and
swallow up the interests of the parts. But there arc many other
questions with regard to which, in England, Scotland, and Ireland,
that interest which is especially English, Scotch, or Irish predomi-
nates over that which is common j and with regard to the questions
(ailing within this category, we ought to apply to Ireland the same
principles on which we act in the two other countries, and legislate
for them according to the views of the majority of the people of that

tor

698

The Gentleman's Magazine.

country." Were I a member of Parliament, I would never aid
by word or by vote the government of the Irish people in a spirit
of domination or of conquest Such a spirit belongs neither to a
just nor a prudent policy. It enfeebles England; it lias exasperated
Ireland. We cannot alter the fact that in the geography of lt<
world these islands are placed together ; we cannot — how I wish »c
could !— obliterate the long record of injustice and misgovcrnment
practised by the rulers of the larger island, which Mr. Gladstone hat
said was at one time such as would have justified for :oa

But upon the other side, to which it is far more pleasant to turn, let
us remember that not less imperishable arc the proud memories
which unite the allegiance of both islands. Where is the Englishman
whose intelligence bows not in reverent homage to the genius of the
Irish Edmund Burke? Who is the Englishman who lovca not the
fame of the Irish Arthur Wcllcslcy? who docs not delight in the
melody of the Irish poet Moore? or who docs not recognise the
greatest living exponent of science in the Irish John Tyndall ? Why
should we not cherish these happier thoughts? How is it that so
few of our Ministers of State have ever beheld the shores of Ireland ?
How is it that our Sovereign, anil the elder members of the Royal
Family, are never seen in Ireland? Is that wise? As we sow, we
shall reap, in Ireland. We have neglected to put in the good seed
of just and equal legislation, while others have been sowing the tares
of discord. I know that the Liberal Government which is looming
in the near future will, immediately upon its entry into power, nuke
new efforts to settle the land question, and will give political equality
to Irishmen in regard to the electoral franchise. Parliament should
be careful to accord the fullest justice, and to refrain in every possible
direction from the denial of equality to Ireland.

ARTHUR ARNOLD.

699

VITAL AIR IN THE SUN.

RECENT physical researches in astronomy have tended to show
not only that all the members of the solar system, but all the
that people space, are formed of the same elements as our
It is true we have not been able to find traces in the
sun of some elements which we might expect to exist there in
enormous quantities. And again, we can learn absolutely nothing
about the elements forming the solid substance of any one of the
planets ; all we can do is to analyse the atmospheres of these bodies;
for the light we get from the planets has only undergone absorption
in passing through their atmospheric envelopes, and, failing evidence
from the actual emission of light (which, of course, does not occur in
the case of the sun-illuminated planets), the only evidence available
for analysis with that wonderful instrument of research, the
spectroscope, is that derived from absorption. The spectroscope
can tell us that a self-luminous body shines with such and such tints,
and thence that it is composed of such and such elements, with
further information, perhaps, as to the condition of these elements.
Or it can tell us that in the light either of such a body or of an orb
shining only by reflected light derived from such a body, certain tints
are missing, and thence that, someit<here between the source of light
and the observer on earth, such and such an absorptive vapour has
been at work cutting off rays of those special tints over which it
possesses absorptive influence. But the spectroscope cannot dis-
tinguish the light of white-hot iron from that of white-hot copper,
izinc, or gold, the light of a white-hot solid from that of a white-hot
liquid, or the light of either from that of a vapour of such great
density that it is in a true sense incandescent (that is, not merely
glowing, but, for the time being, shining with all the colours and all
the tints of colour in the rainbow). In otheT words, the spectroscope
can only deal with such tints as arc cither in greater or in less quantities
than other tints in the spectrum. So that it is not to be wondered at
if even this marvellous instrument cannot tell us of all the elements
present in the sun, or of any of the materials which form the solid
structure of the planets. Still less can the spectroscope be expected

The Gentleman's Magazine.

to give full information respecting the elements present in the stars ;
for the spectrum of even the brightest star is but an exceedingly
minute and necessarily imperfect reduction of such a spectrum at
the sun's. ( We say such a spectrum as the sun's, not limply the soltr

msc one star differeth from another in glor*
star has a spectrum exactly like what our sun's would be if reduced
to the same minute scale ; noi have any two stars precisely the
spectrum.)

Yet, imperfect as the evidence respecting the structure of
and worlds thus is, ii is nevi .c began by saying,

that the general tt il modern physical research among

heavenly bodies is towards the theory that in all the stars and
planets in the universe all the elements are present with wk
fiunili i arranged in different proportions and exiting in

different conditions; in such sort that, while we may probably c< ■.
all the Oil ICC as made of the same materials, we cannot

recognise two which are constituted in exactly the MU Mr.

1 1 should, however, he met.: ,ts, whose

opinion is not to be lightly regarded, have adopted the opinion
in the formation of our solar system from a gr
matter, there would occur a certain separation of the materials
idly forming tliat single mass. The elements of greatest
density (when in the vaporous form, and the companion bring mode
under given conditions of temperature, pressure, and so forth) would
tend towards the centre of the forming system, while those of least
density would tend towards the outsk :i hough the

referred to are of course familiar with the laws according
to which vapours and gases distribute themselves, not seeking
their own level, but intermixing perfectly when due time is allowi
for the process, they still believe that, on the whole, there wo >
su|>erabundancc of the denser elements towards the centre of
system as a whole, and of the rarer elements towards the outsk
corresponding arrangement would fire

dinate systems like those of J u like manner that

more of the denser elements would be formed towards the ■

parate globes like the sun.Jr : the earth, than near

surface. For they consider t r the con

prevailing in a forming solar ..r in the

ms subordinate systems or orbs, the perfect
theoretically results from what is known as the law of gaseous
lion could not take place.

It appears to me that this-theory, wh ulvocated

htm

ikwi
rruU

•din*
)wcd

Vital Air in the Sun.

701

r--"i" — -
possibil:

rates.

• kiiAtl' -

Dr. Gladstone and other eminent physicists, does not in reality
3rd, as they consider, with antecedent probabilities, and is in a
very definite manner opposed by observed facts, some of which are
among those which have been regarded as affording strongest evi-
dence in favour of the theory. The nebular theory, as originally
proposed by Laplace, might indeed, if it were consistent with scientific
>ilities, suggest some such an arrangement as this theory indi-
But I apprehend that no one who carefully compares that
theory as propounded with physical laws as at present known, will
fail to perceive that the nebular theory is quite inadmissible in
its original form. Wc can assume safely enough that the pn
materials of our solar system were originally strewn widely through
space, or even that they were strewn through a region of space disc-
like in form. But wc cannot assume with equal safely — nay, if we
limit ourselves to recognised physical laws, we must deny — that they
ever ha%-c formed a continuous nebulous disc or flattened orb.
That all the materials of the future system should be gaseous, the
nebulous disc would have had to be intensely hot throughout the
whole of its enormous volume ; and apart from the difficulty of
understanding whence (in any theory of development) such heat could
have come, it i:: certain that it would have been radiated away into
space in such sort that nine-tenths of the materials of the future
system would have become solid or liquid, many millions of years
before the system would have been formed. At the very beginning,
indeed, of the process of formation, the original vaporous mass would
inevitably have been divided into vast numbers of small bodies, if
3t into the finest and most sparsely-strewn cosmiral dust. Even
ig, then, with a mighty nebula, we find that the solar system
t have been developed from multitudinous discrete bodies; though
far more probably — nay, certainly, if physical laws are to guide us at
all in such matters — the solar system in its embryonic condition was
never wholly vaporous at any one epoch. In the aggregation of
many separate small bodies (each perhaps partly gaseous, partly
liquid, and partly solid) into a smaller number of large bodies,
ivclling around a great central mass, there would be no such sepa-
ition of the elements as the theory we are considering suggests,
compendiously stated, is the main objection to this theory
& priori grounds.

When wc consider observed facts, we find equally decisive evidence
against this theory. Let it be granted that in the case of our own earth the
relative lightness of the crust, compared with the known mean density
of the earth as a whole, indicates that the materials of greatest density

;o2 The Gentleman's Magatin*.

have sought the central regions ; and let it further be admitted that the
presence of large quantities of hydrogen outside the visible surface of
the sun point! in the same direction : though, in reality, neither of
the regarded as affording satisfactory evidence in thh

respect. Yet once more, let it be granted that the small densities of
the four large outer planets, as compared with those of the four small
inner planets, show that En the outermost parts of the solar system the
lighter dements are superabundant, and the heavier element* super-
abundant in the inncrmo.-i '■■■ all the evidence available, xi

I as all the theoretical considerations admissible, point ton totally
different explanation 01 acteristic feature of the solar system.

Do these arguments— even if admitted to be valid fro tanlo, when
considered separately— establish the theory in question? Do they
not, when considered together, completely overthrow it ? We see
that in the sun, at the very centre of the whole igen, the

most tenuous of all the elements, exists in enormous quantities, even
if ■> that the hydrogen outside the visit i of the

sun represents all or nearly all the solar hydrogen, : » i> no*.

on!'. ile In itself, but is disproved 1 rved facts—

as, fur instance, by the way in which hydrogen is sometimes eje
to enormous heights from the sun in the form of jet | <:es,

and still more by the widening of the hydrogen line* in the spectrum
of a sun-spot (showing that at the loner level of the s|iot hydrogen is
greater in quantity than at the visible surface of the sun). Again, we
sec that, though the earth is so much nearer the centre of the system
than the giant planets (which travel at distance ng hers from

five to thirty times), and though she might be re at the

centre of the region, originally some millions of miles in dianu :
out of which her own mass and the moon's were formed, the lightest
of all the elements is one of the most important constituents of the
earth's mass. According to the theory Icring, there

should be but n small proportion of hydrogen in the total mass of
the earth, and scarcely any at all (relatively) in the sun's mass.

Hut whether these considerations overthrow die theory above
described, or not, one point must in any case be >oe

hydrogen is certainly present in enormous quantities in the sun,
oxygen, being a denser element and an even more important one if

i in judge from the relative quantity of hydrogen and of oxygen
in the earth, ought assuredly to be also i and in

even gn- hydrogen. Both con> li old

ie theory above dealt wii
the latter alone points to it if that theory be rejected, i 'iex

Vital Air in the Sun. 703

caw this conclusion must be accepted unless we are prepared to
abandon the opinion, now admitted by every astronomer and physicist
whose opinion is of weight, that the solar system has reached its pre-
sent condition by processes of development.

Vet among the most striking results of the spectroscopic investi-
gation of the sun's structure was this, that no trace could be recog-
nised of the presence of oxygen. The dark lines indicating the ab-
sorptive action of hydrogen were there, those corresponding to sodium,
to iron, to magnesium, and to a number of other elements, many of
which might have been expected to be present only in quan-
tities so small that no trace of their presence could be discerned. A
strange and probably significant circumstance respecting the elements
thus detected is dial they are all, except hydrogen, metals. Even
hydrogen appears to be a metallic element, though (as I have said
elsewhere1) the idea may seem strange to those who regard hardness,
brightness, malleability, ductility, plasticity, and the like, as the
characteristic properties of metals, and necessarily fail to comprehend
how a gas far rarcT, under the same conditions, than the air we
breathe, and which cannot possibly be malleable, ductile, or the like,
can conceivably be regarded as a metal. But, as I there pointed out,
there is in reality no necessary connection between any one of these
properties and the metallic nature ; many of the filly-five metals are
wanting in all of these properties ; nor is there any reason why, as we
hive in mcTcury a metal which at ordinary temperatures is a liquid, so
we might have in hydrogen a metal which at all obtainable temperatures,
and under all obtainable conditions of pressure, is gaseous. Since
I thus wrote, however, gas has been liquefied by Pictet and Cailloux
(independently of each other) ; and in one experiment the liquid spray
obtained as a jet of hydrogen rushed out of a minute aperture, seems
to have been converted into a sort of fine hydrogen hail, which
struck with a metallic ring against the glass walls of the receiving
vesscL As to the metallic character of hydrogen, however, the most
satisfactory evidence we have is that obtained in the experiments of

»* See the firil essay in my *' Pleasant Ways in Science." I may take ihil
opportunity of noting that, while I in no single case have ever written two essays
pretesting the same subject in the same way (that is, for the same purpose,
carrying on the history to the same point, and to forth) on the same scale —
though often enough giving a full account of a subject in one essay and a con-
dented account in kootbcl — I have not (infrequently found it tbsolnti l\ MttBtkl
to the due discussion of a subject to explain certain matters already dealt with
elsewhere- In such a case it seems mere affectation to modify the verbiage. As
Humboldt has remarked, I think, in I lie preface to li» " I'iimiuh," the practice
of the indents in this respect— th* repetition of ihe same words— is invariably to
be preferred to any arbitrary substitution of paraphrases.

iractice
ably to

7°4

The Gentleman i

the late Professor Graham (aided by Dr. Chandler Roberts), by
which it was shown that hydrogen will enter into such combination

h the metal palladium that it maybe regarded as forming for the
time an alloy of hydrogen and palladium, whence (since alloys can only
be regarded as compounds <if two or more metals) it would MB
follow tliat hydrogen is in reality % metallic element Thus, then, we
have this strange result — that metallic vapours only rise above the
visible surface of the sun, seeing that the dark absorption lines of sock
vapours only (the missing tints, that is, which indicate the absorptive
action of such vapours) are alone indicated in the solar spectrum. In
passing, wc may note that several of the elements il ate

not such as wc should expect to find thus remote from the wn't
centlt if the theory were true that the denser elements are super-

ondaot towards the centre, the lighter towards and above the
■, of the sun.

Oxygen and nitrogen showed no trace of their pres< i oukl

found of the non-metallic elements, carbon, sulphur,
boron, silicon, and so forth.

At that time the idea entertained reacting the sun's coi
and definitely adopted by KirchliotT, Bunsen, Kosc.oe, ami others,

!>ly this— tint the Min, or at any rate bi surface, I

stats of glowing solid or liquid matter, while around hb
there is a deep complex atmr- h the vapours of the

metals above referred to arc present in |p
Kirchhoff", indeed, would not allow th he solar spots arc to be

regarded as regions where this stai tngi is modiil

adopted the opinion that all the phenomena of the spots arc due to
the presence of clouds floating in the volar atmosphere. Thus we
:.l in: il. 1 have the solar spectrum explained as follows.- — The rainbow-
tinted background is formed by the light coming from the solid or
liquid surface of the photosphere m porous envelope,

the rainbow-tinted streak would be as perfectly continuous as a si
from a rainbow1 (athwart its breadth); but the various vapours
forming the solar atmospheres cut out from the *pc> I
tints over which each of them has absorpi Hrt

• In genera] appearance only i raaMc ■ cojittnwm

»l>c: i ■« we vh.-cM have from fantfetu la ih» caw lappotol j f-.-i is*

laticr ipeclrwn wou'i- 1 ;.! colouring Us own |u part

at i lie spectrum, Tlie rainluw spectrum , .ih tint i |i iiii^ a

•am
' -pcctium, or a pure (
•to the eoJours of the rainbow cosntiucd wit* the uues ol a ,

mm.

/ ' il.d Air in the Suit.

;°5

at tens of thousands of lints arc- missing fiom those which constitute
the gTadations (infinite in number) of the Seven | colours.

Of course each missing tint is r» pn tented by B dark line athwart the
.:dth of the long rainbow ■ Dted rpectram.

Hut since 18591 *hea Kiuhhuii" announced his grand discovery
of the significance of the solar dark lines, a series of minor
(because lets general; but yet most important discoveries have
entirely modified our views as to the constitution of the sun, and the
interpretation of the solai spectrum.

t among these must be Doted the recognition of bright lines
in the solar spectrum — a discovery a bii h must be clearly understood
and carefully Studied by those »hc would appreciate justly the
evidence ri •; ■ ting the presence of oxygen in the sun. W« have
aid that the dark lines of hydrogen arc present in the solar spectrum.
This is always the case when the light of the whole sun is examined
(as, for instance, when with a q pe we examine the light of

the sky), and ordinarily it is the case also when the light of spcci.il
putt Of the sun's Surface is thus examined. Lut, in the latter case,
times thai the dark lines of hydrogen cannot be rccog-
cd; at Other times that the lines of hydrogen arc brighter than the
■d background of the spectrum ; and at yet other times
that they arc bright but broad, while on these broad lines can
sometimes be seen the fine dark lines of hydrogen. The explanation
of these varied appearances, according to the principles resulting
from the general laws of radiation and absorption, would be as
follows:— Whereas ordinarily the hydrogen above the sun's surface,
though, of course, intensely hot, is cooler than thai surface itsell,
thus absorbing mote light of its own special lints than it emits, and
SO producing dark lines, the hydrogen over special regions becomes
at times of the same temperature as the surface, in wine h case no
lines of hydrogen can he seen: at limes hotter, in which case bright
hydrogen lines arc seen ; and at times not only hotter than the solar
surface, but to such degree increased in density as to have its bright
lines widened into bands. When, in the last of these cases, there
exists a Sufficient quantity of relatively cool hydrogen above the
dense and intensely hot hydrogen producing the bright bands, there
will be seen on these bands the fine dark lines of hydrogen at less
pressure. We learn, then (i.) that an clement may be present in the
sun, though neither its dark lines nor its bright lines may be seen; (ii.)
that, at any rate fur .1 lime, an clement may indicate its presence in
the sun by bright lines instead of by dark lines in the solar

Ictrwn : and lastly, that a dark line even centrally placed 01. a
VOL. CCXLV. MO. 17SS.

706

The Gent U i) ui >t

bright band may not of necessity indicate that the coimpondiag

element is not present in that condition of intense heat in which

.in clement gives out a si- of its own spccul

tints.

Next to be mentioned, in n, is]thc discovery thai,

though in the case of our own sun hydr.

presence (when the vrliolc light of the sun is examined) by dark
lines, this is not the case with all the ran spectrum

bright slar Betelgcuse shows none of the dark lines of hydrogen—
though l<'w [/hvMusts would now advance the theory ra b no

hydrogen in that star. The spectrum of the star Gamm.
shows the lines of hydrogen bright instead of dark. Tin m

that the presence of an ma sun may constant!)

by the bright lines of that eterm :

Thirdly must be noticed the recognition of the Importai
stance that a vapour which, at ordinary pressures, lias a spectrum nl
il lines (so that when acting absorptively on light— that is, when
such a vapour is interposed between the ej

hotter than the vapour— it would produce dark absoi «) hat

at higher pressures a spectrum of bright bands, and thai

exatUK are sufficiently increased the spectrum
becomes continuous. So that a continuou ^ not

necessarily an indication that the source of light U a glowfo|
Of liquid hody; it may be a gaseous body, if only fte haw it
consider tlut any gas constituting it would i «rcat pres-

sure and at a very high I !MJ0 to

believe tint this is the case with tl ,, no longer ao

demonstrated the theory that tht unlace of the sun i

of glowing solid or liquid matter. It may consist of j;
matter. Nor indeed, when we rigl ohend th

obtained respecting the widening <:i in bands' fori-

spectra 01 gaseous substances, arc we c

that the iriace of onsists of ga-.

pressure. If the multitudinous bright lines
of the sun's comp
from theoretical o
spectrum— tens of thousands o<
rainbow— has been seen during total <

SCVCI

it bands

■ifi hvdrocrn, totrct

Vital Air in the Sun.

707

at greater pressure, so would the dark 1 ines of the metals be seen on the
continuous background formed by their widened bands. So that for
aught known, or for aught, at least, as yet considered, the solar photo-
sphere might be formed of the glowing vapours of those very elements
which form the sun's complex atmosphere and by their absorptive
action produce the solar dark lines.

We must not be startled by the conclusion to which we thus
seem led, — the conclusion, namely, that the sun we sec may not in
reality be the great orb wbi< b, by virtue of its mighty mass, sways the
motions of the planetary system, but simply the gaseous envelope of
the true ruler of the solar system. Then are other considerations
betide* dust thus suggesting the mere possibility that this conclusion
may be sound ; considerations which seem to suggest that no other
conclusion is admissible, I have elsewhere discussed the remarkable
evidence adduced by Dr. Croll (formerly of Glasgow) as to the
duration of the period in which the sun has been emitting heat at
tlic rate of his present radiation, or rather — for in reality that is the
true outcome of such researches — not the duration of the sun's
activity as he at present works, but the amount of work which the
son must have done. Briefly to recapitulate the results of Dr. Croll's
researches — which, be it remarked, arc in accordance with the
results obtained by all who study this matter unbiassed by pre-
conceived opinions— we find that a sun emitting light and heat as
our sun now docs, during twenty millions of years, would have been
quite unequal to the work which certainly the sun has accomplished
on the earth ; while, nevertheless, it is equally certain that if the" sun
had gathered in his present substance (that is, the totality of his pre-
sent ni-: region extending much farther iuto space than the
orbit <>f Neptune— nay, if the sun had gathered his present
substance from infinite space — the total amount of energy resulting
from that process of contraction would not correspond to more tlian
twenty millions of years of solar radiation at its present rate. We
may shorten the total period corresponding to the processes of
denudation which the earth's crust has most certainly undergone, by
assuming that in former ages the sun's action was much more
powerful than it is at present. But this does not avail to diminish
the difficulty of the problem presented to us for solution ; for in like
degree we shorten the period accounted for by the sun's contraction
to his present size. We may, if we please, accept Dr. Croll's
explanation, that the sun's energy has not merely been derived from
contraction, but has in great part, nay chiefly, been derived from the
locitics with which bodies from which his present mass was

veloci

708 The GentUmaris Ma

formed originally rushed through *j>acc. that

the sun was formed from the conflict of bodies which originally were
rushing with enormous velocity through space, is really one of
wildest which has ever been submitted to the consideration of men
of science. Granting the possibility, <>r evi-n the probability, Uut
originally— 01 rather, in that far-back time to which wc for the moment
look as the remotest wc can study discerningly ' — orbs raucb
smaller than the present stars were rushing hither and thither through
space at the rate of many miles in every second of time (nothing
short of this would account, in the way Suggested, for the long
duration of the sun's energy in the past), it would still be utterly in-
conceivable that these multitudinous orbs should encounter at full
tilt, and as often as would be necessary to account not | ow

sun's present and past might, but for the countless millions of sans,
on the average at least equal to him, which lie even within the range of
the puny instruments which the inhabitants of this tiny earth
(though they in SIM are u naught by comparison ive hern

able to construct. There remains but one way of retno'.
difficulty ; and the path towards which wc arc tin not only

satisfactory so far as this particular difficulty is concerned, but hat the
vantage of guiding us to other conclusions, *1 .»rd well

tfa known facts, and indeed afford the best possible explanation of
them. I I total emission of light and heat f to

some twenty millions of years, when we regard the sun's mass as
gathered in to occupy his present apparent volume uniformly *r

[|] instead of that, the central portions of that
globe wc call the sun are much denser than the a H, or in

other words if the greater part of the Aaa has been gathered

into a 1:1 ice than we had b> I kiratiou

of the sun's total emis :ht and heat would lie increased—

greatly if the central compression is great, very little of course if the
compression were but slight. Now there reasons,

have elsewhere i
density mutt be much greater towards the I LO near that

Me nir&ce which wc call the photo ut wc t

fairly assume the theory of great central compression to be

1 ViTul Gcoojc --lid of the " nuke- believe

"poSi ■«' onetasingjoorecy •ben >iii ' <Scin uld luvr tarn

•tut liinr b at ni<tglr.
i »ur»c_v • '• 'time* M*k« to nuke of tin kmcMMuabi* j

■ad tbe < trocpecl <

iIbj; ; acid whether oatr {wologoe lie ir. hesren at no earth, l
n of Hut b!

Vital Air in the Sun.

709

ercd extremely probable, even if it may not be regarded as to

intents and purposes demonstrated.

But thisinference inevitably leads us to the conclusion that fheouter-
: parts of the sun, even perhaps to a depth of many thousands of
niles below the photosphere, arc of very small density indeed. Just
below the visible surface itself the density may probably be not much
greater than that of air at atmospheric pressure,1 or may even be
much less. It is certain that the compound gaseous layer to a depth,
say, of a thousand miles below the photosphere, would still produce
by its light a spectrum to all intents and purposes continuous, though
not perhaps quite uniformly brilliant (or, remembering thai aveo
a pure continuous spectrum fades off at the two ends, we should
nther say, not varying precisely in the same way, as regards bright-
ness from one end to the other, as a pure continuous spectrum does).

Wc should have then, according to this view, a continuous rainbow-
tinted latkground across which would lie multitudinous dark lines due
to the absorptive action of the complex vaporous atmosphere above the
photosphere, although the photosphere itself would be formed of the
same vapours as the atmosphere, only hotter and more compressed, while
probably also many other elements would be present in the vaporous

»form at this lower level ; and while these other elements — which, if not
extending quite up to the photosphere, would certainly reach so nearly
to it that they would supply a large part of the solar light — would
strengthen the continuous spectrum, even if they did not supply the
chief part of its luminosity, they would probably increase that want
of uniformity to which I have referred above. It might be worth
while for those who experiment on the variations of gaseous spectra
under increase of pressure and temperature, to ascertain wh.n
would be the appearance of the spectrum obtained when the electric
spark is taken through a mixture of several gaseous elements under
considerable pressure. A continuous, but not perfectly uniform, spec-
trum would be obtained more readily in such a case than by simply
rearing the pressure under which a single gas is dealt with. Hut
probably it would be found that though the spectrum thus obtained
would be continuous, no tint being missing, some gases would ihow
their presence by bright bands, or possibly one gas alone might do so.
By varying the quantity of the different gases thus employed a scries
of spectra might be obtained, all continuous in the sense that there
would be none missing, yet all readily distinguishable inter se,

■ This, by the way, would correspond with the circumstance that the tpectrum
of the glowing hydrogen forming the put* of the prominences clo>e above the win's
«nt»cc is t'r-M of hydrogen at Is* than atmoophcffc pr

7io

The GtHtlematis Maga

because of the differences of brightness observable in srts of

the rainbow-tinted streak.

Applying these considerations to the sun, we perceive that although
the most usual evidence of the presence of an clement in the sun is
that afforded by the dark lines resulting from its absorptive action, yet
evidence may also be given — which in special cases may become fully
as decisive as that derived from dark lines — by the presence of bright
bands in the rainbow-tinted background, these bands corresponding to
those belonging to the spectrum of that particular element at some
definite pressure, or bctv. tin definite limits of prc<

Now, Kirchhoff and the earlier workers in spectrum analysis had
sought for no such evidence of the presence of any elements in the
sun. Nor do those even who have recognised the occasional presence
of bright lines in the solar spectrum, seem to have thought of the
possibility that some elements might at all times indicate their
presence, either by bright lines or by bright bands — in other words,
that some elements may be always so hot (owing, let us say, to the
position of the region where they are present in greatest quantity)
.is to emit more light than they absorb.

If search were to be made in this way for one clement rather
than for others, oxygen certainly was the one to be selected. lira
clement forms a most important, probably the most important,
portion of the substance of our earth, being estimated to cot:
one-third of the M of the crust, and known to cot.

eight-ninths of the substance of the ocean, and four-fifths of the
substance of the air. We can hardly doubt that it forms a most
mporiant part of the substance of the sun.

rdirary observation would bi iicair

the presence of oxygen in this way,— assuming that, as none of the
dark Una or I'. nil- of oxygen arc seen, it presumably shows bright
bands, if only som t yean be fan-

make them discernible. Ft was a happy thought of Professor H.
Draper's to ett] tognpfay in the Midi. For not only txmM

lie in this • on his own behalf more satisfactory evidence than

if he had merely compared the solar and the oxygen spectra together
with the eye, but all his observations could be submit'
of others. He could not merely describe the t
satisfied him, but he could to otlvcrs precisely am he had

obtained it for his own guidance in the first inst i

What I1 10 make the blue and violet parts of

the solar i record themselves photi

;ion with the spectrum of atmosphere -pectrum.

/ '//;?/ Air in tin' Sun.

course, were the bright bands of oxygen and nitrogen. The spectrum
of atmospheric air was obtained by sending an electric spark through
air. But in order til imposition of the two spectra — the

sokr spectrum and the spectrum of our own air — might be exact, Dr.
Draper caused the tpectmxu of iron vapour to appear in company
with that of air I by placing iron at one of the poles between which
the ipark was taken), so that the bright lines of iron could be
brought into exact CD with the dark lines of iron in the

spectrum of the sun.

In 1K77 Dr. Draper first announced the discovery, by these
means that oxygen exist* in the sun. "Oxygen discloses itself," he
then wrote, " by bright lines or bands in the solar spectrum, and
does not give dark absorption lines like the metals. We must,
therefore, change our theory of the solar spectrum, and no longer
regard it merely u a COStii • tntm with certain rays absorbed

by a layer of ignited " (it should be "glowing ") "metallic vapours,
but as having also bright line) ud I .nids, superposed on the back-
ground of a continuous Spectrum Such a conception not only opens
the way to the discovery of the non-metals— sulphur, phosphorus,
selenium, chlorine, bromine, iodine, lluorine, carbon, &c. — but also
may account for some of the so-called lines, by leading us to regard
them as intervals between bright lines." The photographs estab-
lishing, in the opinion of Dr. Draper and others, the conclusion that
oxygen exists in the sun, were submitted to the scientific world, no
change having been made by re-touching or hand-work of any sort,
except that reference-lines were added to the negative. " No close
observation," as Dr. Draper justly remarked, was "needed to
demonstrate to even the most casual observer, that the oxygen
lines arc present in the solar spectrum as bright lines." There was
one particular quadruple group of oxygen lines in the air spectrum,
the coincidence of which with a group of bright lines in the solar
spectrum seemed quite unmistakable. " This oxygen group alone is
almost sufficient," Dr. Draper says, " to prove the presence of oxygen
in the sun ; for not only does each of the four components have a
representative in the solar group, but the relative strength and the
general aspect of the lines in each case arc similar. I do not think
that in comparisons of the spectra of the elements and sun, enough
stress has been laid on the general appearance of lines apart from
their mere position. In photographic representations this point is
very prominent." In all, eighteen coincidences of oxygen lines with
bright parts of the solar spectrum were indicated in a very satisfactory
manner in the photographs of 1877. Not one case could be rccog-

712

The C<\ title.

cm-

I.,,,

niaed h an oxygen bright band fell opposite I

band.

The evidence thus obtained seemed 10 me at the time i
! ti me that Dr. Draper did n
the bounds of scientific caution in ■' ng the discovery

of oxygen in the sun. Bui several physicists expressed doubt* , ami
as the doubts they urged ap; PW

evidence, presently to 1. be weB

carefully to consid* I

In the fin s dispersive po 'red

Dnper i Miah the ■< the

ddencea on which his conclusion ma b

•pccrroscopicanaly
an element is present i" orabseni from the sun, the reality of each
coincidence be- otardark line and one ol ■ soft

it is to some degree doubtful. It has happened rc|
the course of the bul ; 'posed cases ol

where to the eye. when a i power w.i

ployed, the coincidence seemed perfect— have turned Ol
reality only cases of close pro narj

means mi&iHg. Still, even in a case si
liability that the coincidence was real could not be overlooked. In

of detcrminin
cidence was real or not, prior to the construction of a more powerfully

■ -reive spectroscopic battery, was to inquire whether the otli
of the clement coincided with solar dark lines wh, me

persive power was employed. And if wc consider i !
wc perceive that this indicates how the whole question i
the doctrine of probabilities. We assume thai
one coincidence appears, though in re 'hen is

the case of some at least of the remaining bright lines of I
no corresponding dark solar line will be found. TaJti
only, with a given dispersive power, il likely as I

that among th. nous dark solar lines on

respond ; in other words, the chance of such an agreement on such
an assumption would be one-hall

ivould be also i

■■uch lines would a
lines would be one
that 6ve would agree, one thirty-ace.

/ 'Hal Air in the Sun.

■ ncrcasc, by one, of the number of lines examined. So that for
twenty lines the ii priori chance of the apparently perfect agreement
of all twenty with solar dark lines, though in reality the clement pro-
duced no discernible dark lines in the solar spectrum, or was even
not present in the sun at all, would, on the assumption made originally,
be only as one in rather more than a million. And therefore, if
coincidences actually were obscrvt.il in such a Case, not one line out
<if the twenty known lines of an element failing to have a dark ol.ir
line agreeing perfectly with it in position (so far as the dispersive
]iower employed enabled the observer to judge), the odds would be
more than a million to one in favour of the conclusion that the 1 1.
tnent reall'. at in the sun. If there were but eighteen I QUI

Li'dcnces (always assuming that there were no single case of discord-
ance ; for the whole argument depends on this, that one negative
ease is decisive against the reality of the coincidences), then the odds
would be more than a quarter of a million to one in favour of the
element really being present in the sun.

Now, it probably may be considered a fair assumption enough
that each of the eighteen coincidences observed by Dr. Draper — or, I
should rather say, shown in his photographs — as existing between tin.
bright bands of atmospheric oxygen and bright parts of the solar
spectrum, was at least as likely to be a real as an accidental coin-
cidence. Especially does this assumption seem fair when wc remem-
ber that in the majority of cases there was agreement, not only in
position, but also in the character of the bright and dark bands seen
respectively in the atmospheric and the solar spectra. Nevertheless,
the argument in favour of Dr. Draper's conclusions becomes so over-
whelmingly strong when this assumption is made, that, instead of
rding the chance of the coincidences observed in 1877 being
I as one-half, I propose to treat this chance as worth one-twentieth
only; that is, to ass'ign to it but the tenth part of the value which
might (airly, as I think, be accorded to it. Now, when this is done
wc find for the probability that any given coincidence is accidental
the value ninctecn-tcnths, or the odds arc nineteen to one against
a coincidence being real in the case of the photographs obtained in
1877. Km the chance that all the coincidences in the photographs
of 1877 were accidental is represented by a fraction having for its
numerator nineteen raised to the eighteenth power — that is, multiplied
into itself seventeen times ; and for its denominator twenty raised
10 the same power. It will be found, by any one who cares to make
the calculation — a very easy one when logarithms are employed —
that this fraction is equal to about 397 -thousandths, or not quite two

The Gent'. ne.

; •-& thai, even adopting the rathe- :ant assumption that

the dunce of a coincidence being real amounts only to one-twentieth,
we still find the chance that none of them are real amounts to less
than two-fifths, leaving the o<kls in favour of the theory that the
coincidences are n ill see pre-

sently how enormously these odds arc increased when the photo-
graphs reo lined by Dr. Draper are considered. At All
stage I need only po reasonable is the assumption
adopted ; • . how unreasonably I liave, for argument's sake,
reduced the probable value of the iltance that any single coinci-
dence is not due to mere accident The negatives obtained by Dt.
Draper in 1877 were on a scale equal to about one-eighth that of the

1 normal chart by Angstrom. But the enlarged p

were on a scale four times as great. And no one at all familiar with

1 k that on thb scale the apparent coin-

ice of two fine Its far more probably real than

accidental, and the apparent coinckfc WQ bands at least as

to be real as not In I u only onc-tw.

I 1 .ertainly liave been very fsr from exaggerating its
taken it at one-tenth, whl U tax below the true value, I sbooid

iiree (as nearly as possi! t odds

in favour of the theory that the coincidences are not accidental.

BWS1 now, however, turn to the consideration of other
obj' hU were advanced En 1877.

It was objected that the bright bl •.pectnrra,

thou; ; bands of oxygen, do

not in every case corres]>f>nd in character. In some cases, li
stance, where the oxygen bani Iget, the cormpond-

ing bright banda in the solar sjiectnim are sharply defined. To this
objection Dr. Draper replies, that there Is an obvious distinction
between v .1 under which the bright bands of oxygen

arc obtained in the atmospheric and in the !n the

case of the atmospheric spectrum the bands arc seen alter t!
has passed through but a few feet of air — or, referring specially tu the
photographs, the wo 1 h the negative is (brmr.

but a few feet from the air through which the Spa
therefore, praeti in the rase of the aohr

spectrum,: 1; oxygen

spectrum lies below the dec;

thousands gpacx

m along •

Vila! Air in the Sun.

7»5

ursc many mile* in length through our own atmosphere. It is not to
I wondered at, then, that many of the oxygen bright hands in the
solar spectrum should show signs of the absorptive action thus
exerted upon them, or that some of them should have their edges
sharply defined — the result, no doubt, of the selective absorption pro-
duced by elements existing in the complex vaporous Btmosphtire
overlying the solar hydrogen.

A similar answer applies to another objection, that even within
the breadth of the solar bright bands attributed by Dr. Draper to the
presence of oxygen (though never centrally on one of these bands),
dark lines can in one or two cases be recognised. We have already
seen that not only can a dark line of one clement be seen on the
widened bright band belonging to another, but that a dark line of an
clement may actually be seen on the corresponding bright band of the
same element at a higher temperature and at greater pressure.
There can be no reason, then, why the bright bands of oxygen in the
sun should not be furrowed by the dark lines of other solar elements j
though, as a matter of fact, it is only here and there that the peculiarity
can be noticed at all, and even where it is noticed it is not a furrow-
ing, but merely the presence of a single fine dark line well removed
from the bright central part of the broad oxygen band, which has been
noticed.

The real difficulty, which, strangely enough, was not noticed at all
by those who more openly objected to the results of Dr. Draper's re-
searches, consists in this, that no trace has ever been recognised of the
presence of oxygen above the solar photosphere. When we remember
thai the vapours of many elements which are probably present in far
smaller quantity than oxygen, and have also a greater specific gravity
under like conditions, can not only be distinctly recognised by
means of their dark lines, but have shown their bright lines even
when the sun has been shining in full glory, we see that the first and
St striking evidence which might have been expected to indicate
i existence of oxygen in the sun, is such as Kirchhoff would have
tn able to detect — the presence, namely, of the dark lines of oxygen
in the solar spectrum. Nor does the discovery of the bright bands
of oxygen in the least degree remove the difficulty with regard to the
dark lines of the same element; for as the oxygen above the photo-
sphcre would be cooler and at much less pressure than the oxygen
below the photosphere, it should indicate its presence by dark lines
even when the bright bands of the same element were also seen, pre-
cisely as the dark lines of hydrogen have been seen superposed on the
broadened bright bands of hydrogen in the instances described above.

7i6

The Gentleman's Afagu

when the edge of ihe wn, <
. apparent edge, was examined, the oxygen brigV
be recognised. One would even expect to find them stronger
ly than those of any other clement. Vet no trace ol* thoe
lines has ever been noticed, either by Pro ung in his cek-

I observations from a high spot on the Rocky M

en of any of the recent met. This accords well.

in passing, with what I pointed OH ;— vU. that

I oence of the oxygen dark lines could ted for. as

Dr. Draper had suggested, b) Seated

i> below the photosphere. quite certain that the

solar oxygen, like the rest of the m it*, doc* not rite

above the | tere — at least, not in y to afford

recognisable evidence of its presence ll

! difficulty, although, SO nccracd.

serious, is in reality not one which need prevent out
Draper's results. In fact, the very greatness of the difficulty in the
former respect should prevent our regarding it as fatal or even serious
in the latter sense. For all the non-metallic elements arc absent
from the region above the photosphere, I those, if there

arc such, who consider that possibly oxy^

the sun, will hardly be prepared to assert that tlsc sun's

is constituted entirely of metallic elements. 1 »r. Draper,

out supplying a solution of the difficulty— whi d, he cooW

hardly be expected to do in the present pos-,i — pre-

r to this objection — which he was the first to

- in hit original paper. " The substances hitherto investigated

;." he said, "arc really metallic vapours, hydrogen probably

rider that rule. letals obi ay berate

differently. It - on the cause* of

( Kjgen, especially, from its relation to the metals, may readily
form compounds in the upper regions of the solar atmosphere,
may be well for me to note that this quo one tense,

altogether garbled ; bol it is garbled fairly, the peril bcinf

Jcfinitc suggestions, which may or Ik *oun<\ r* pur-

pose is only to show how Dr. Draj>er in.
explanation omitted passages

. the bearing of the o:

te so-called chann.
somewhat similar sug£
idstonc nt the Hit

Vital Air in the Suit.

?«7

at when we look at the edge of the sun there are bright [iota
corresponding to hydrogen and some other elements, but there arc
no oxygen lines. Now, I would suggest that this shows that the
oxygen never rises to the level of the chromosphere, so as to be
at the limb of the sun ; and probably that is just the reason why we
sec its lines as bright lines and not as datk lines, for it never get! to
a level where it is sufficiently cool to form dark lines. We can easily
understand that, with so much iron and magnesium vapour, all the
oxygen, as it rushes upwards to the higher levels, may enter into com-
bination and fall in a rain of oxides." Of course we mutt not lay
too much stress on a suggestion thrown out during a general discus-
sion at a scientific meeting;' the reader must be careful to distin-

ish a passing remark by so eminent a physicist as Dr. Glads
a deliberate statement of his opinion. Still, the report above

lotcd was, I believe, submitted to him for correction before i:
published ; and he presumably would have added a note withdraw in;;
the suggestion, had careful subsequent inquiry indicated its unsound-

iJUOti

And now it remains that I should describe briefly the series of

' i may take thi« opportunity of noting wbai I cannot but regard as a change

■M |he worse in scientific meeting*. It used once to Ik- tin- enttOBi after .1 p»pcr

hul been read (at the Astronomical .Society, but I bcliere the (MM custom pie-

railed, and similar changes have taken place, elsewhere), to discus, ii„- mbjacl C4

the paper in an informal way. A I'rllnw would make a remark on some point

which had a! tuck hi* attention, and Others would speak about ilint point

some one else, or it might be the same Fellow, would comment on another point,

which would in turn receive notice from each of those who had anything I

about U, and so forth. But recently the preposterous Idea has entered the

heads of some wiseacres to model such discussions on parliamentary d<

Whether parliamentary debates are specially commendable even for theJl awn

special purpose, lam not careful to determined have sometimes thought thai

they have been ingeniously devised to attain a minimum of effect with a masimmn

of speaking ; but let that pass. Could anything be more ftbturd, however, 1 !■:. n

to conduct scientific discussions on the lines of parliamentary debating? to -.

nth person who wishes to take part in such a discussion to bring into one ict

all the ideas that may occur to him as a paper — perhaps of deep and varied

Hint— is read to htm (tin; first time, be it noticed, that he may have heard of

■any of ihe points noted therein), and, having once spoken, to hold his peace, even

Aoogh, as ihe discussion proceeds, entirely new views and ideas may present thrm-

«!vo to him ? The stupidity and wooden-headednesa of a vestry, in its adoption

"i parliamentary forms, where such forms arc not only out of place, but worse

■■a useless, is well drawn by Dickens in " Our Vestry ;" but 1 fancy I hare seen

Aoe qualities matched in scientific gatherings. If time even were saved, thai

would not justify the substitution of useless for affai tW* ' liscussions. But time is

*otoved. On Ihe contrary, lime is lost. Nearly evrij ■ -.u . more 'Inn he

»»1 uy. ould fail of saying all ho might want to say.

7.8

The Gentleman's Magi:

Dr. H. Draper h — and, «

the event shows, has confirmed — the icsulti ;

In the 6m pi:-' •-. in order to make I of atiu<ni>h«v

oxygen as pure as possible, Dr. 1 taper has employed an airaagcmcai
for flattening the electric spark. It is well known thai ;»eof

the clc-i he two poles is not a ili

xag. It appears zigzag from whales er tide it i - wed, ami

consequently a photographic image of the spark, if such could Lf
obtained, would present a zigzag streak. I mo

graph a single electric flash is impossible ; and in oi i.gto-

graph the ipc<-trum o! park in air, whi mix

reality a series of coloured images of the spark itself » of

sparks must be kept up until, alter a m long c\j.

negative is completed. Each spark pursuing a zigzag cootv
each the -ame course, the result would of coi : rtral

bright Lands, representing coloured images of many zigzag*, would
be widened, and would also be more nc': ibey

should be. To understand the of this, tht iced onr/

set two d ltd B, say) a certain small distance apart, and dravi

scries of zigzags from A to B proceeding alv. a fro*

A to It, ."'ite, so that the zigzags never depart far on cither

side of the I in \. B, When a number of such zigza

.vn, the result will be a *' fuzzy "-looking band com -ir.il

11: the phic image of I na>

ttdiflOu n two poles, would ntxcsxai

adopt the usual course • thai

air through whidi the
fine glass tube, simply because a spark of the inti
would have melted the gin he did, howc> naaw

effective (for the f a portion of tin

case ail -i). Me

spark to trat between two nearly adjacent faies of

soapstonc (which of heat ( .ich

experiments). The n the spark must

travel being thus mad tags of the «park romi

all be in one plane, for the spark cou .«t

leajr, I he u*

sparks arc pawing ar (ran

tluit side to lie in a $!/.■ juc

in v
in t1-

Vital Air in the Sun. 719

form the spectrum on die sensitive plate, we have :i pun spectrum
instead of the COS & trtUn formed by the images

of multitudinous zigzag flashes.

This was ■ great improvement. In fact, Dr. Draper considers
that the increased value of his recent results depends in large degree
on this change in his method of obtaining the spectrum of the
electric spark in air.

Hut this was far from l>eing all. He increased the dispel
tower fourfold, making the negatives of his recent scries as large as
the enlarged photograph* of his Thus the pi

enlargement* are on twit e the scale of Angstrom'.-, normal chart. It
may be said — though usually it is not very safe to Undertake tO
indicate a limit beyond which improvement in such matters will not
pass — that neither Dr. Draper, nor any one else, is likely ever to
obtain much greater dispersion than this, seeing that the brightness
of the electric spark in air which gives the comparison tpCOttomof
oxygen is scarcely equal to one standard candle.

In the photographs obtained with this increased d I, the

coincidences observed between the bright lines of oxygen in ill-
spectrum and bright parts of the solar spectrum, arc as wei] defined
and as unmistakable a* in the former series. But the value of
each coincidence as a piece of evidence is now increased fourfold,
even apart from the effects of the improved arrangement for
obtaining the d '-rk in air. The effect of this increase

in the value of each coincidence separately, is marvellously to
enhance the value of the enti We must multiply four

into itself seventeen times— in other words, we must lake the
eighteenth power of four— to find the degree in which the weight
of evidence is theoretically increased. The number we thus
obtain is 68, 7 2 5. 000,000 ; and in this degree BOUSI we in< rcase the
denominator of the fraction (rather less than two -tilths, it will be
remembered) which represented, before, the chance that the coinci-
dences are not real, but all of them accidental. We thus get
traction having unity for numerator, and about 28,000 millions for
denominator. In other words, the odds arc about 28 millions to one
against the observed coincidences being due to chance, and in favour
of the theory that they are due to the presence of oxygen in the sun.1

• Exception ha* been taken t" thil result, became in two
Dnes fall OB ihe bright oxygen buds, ind Mreral other dark lino lie neaily OB
tbc*e lnods. Such pccul ' caddy accounted for, however, oj expl..

»|y>re; in fact, it would he nrangc if "■>"•■ RKfi COoW be recognised. The
pretence of » tharply defined dark line In very different from that tUrkne\s of the
entire land which could alone lie regarded as effectire evidence agoiml the theory
that oxygen i$ pfctent in the sun.

720

The CfitlUir

TJlUsDr.Dl undantly justified in s.v at ilk!

evening meeting of the Royal Astronomical Soi
13 last, that, " having . photographs 1 ofthe

spark spectrum of oxygen all fall opposite bright poiti etoUr

in,' In- bai " established the probability of t ice of

a in the sun." Assuredly the burden of disproof now »<
larked in the Timn of June 16, "with those v
validity of the evidence, li esent in tl

! land

■ gen docs not fall opposite a brigl the sola:

I have here spoken of the presence of oxygen in the
that corresponded with the title of this essay; >ct in a sense oxygen
can hardly be called vital air, though oxygen be the only po-
vital element of the air we breathe. 1 1 is, however, most probable that
nitrogen also exists in the sun, several well-marked coi
between the atmospheric nitrogen I le soUr

rurn being recognisable in photograj

Igfa the evidence in theii
Dt Drap btained in the case of oxygen, yci

o( the 1 '. 11 Riw

far to render the comparative! i.ingcsi'.'.

of nitrogen sufficient fbt that gas alio.

It may be well to add a 1 how caxefi

Draper has dealt with this matter, and how labor
arc. Each photograph of his set >posute of

fifteen and with preparation an lafulllu'

een occupied. To produce a g
intennediate trials. 30,000 ten-in<
30,0c f the bobbin uf the gramme

last three years,'' says Dr. Draper, " ihi
zo millions of revolutions. The petroleum engtne-oi

■ of drops of oil at cacli stroke, and yet it hat usc«l
150 gallons. Kach drop of oil produces tw

sparks. It must also be borne in mind
only be made when the
fertile source of loss

*HERE arc some faces which, when we first see them, appeal
to us quite commonplace and uninteresting. because, perhaps,
we have not yet learnt to read in them all the hidden lines which
tell of high and noble character, of subtle depth, or of eager fltd
earnest resolution. Bat when we come to know them better, and to
recognise the individuality which underlies their seemingly mute
exterior, we arc often enabled to perceive the unsuspected beauty,
ml to decipher the eloquent hieroglyphics written on the speaking
mures. Physiognomy has certainly a kind of t.x-post-f<uto truth
aut it- It does not tell us what is the character, from mere
inspection of the face: but when we know the character from long
observation, it allows us to read its record in every curl of the lip
and in every movement of the eye. The expression mirrors .mil
reflects the mind ; yet only those who know the mind already can

E*Togni*c the reflection in the mirror.
Comparatively few, however, have noticed a contrary experience,
which attention has been much less frequently directed — the
perience in which we find a face meaningless to us from its very
familiarity. We have grown up side by side with it, perhaps, and
have so implicitly taken it for granted, that we really do not know
whether it i- plain or pretty, dull or lively, intelligent or stupid. We
accept it in the mass as so-and-so's face, without ever thinking of its

» meaning one way or the other.
Something analogous is too often the case with those poems which
we learnt in our childhood, ami the words of which have rung in our cars
throughout our whole lives. Many of them have almost no meaning
for us at all. until by some chance we happen to think about them in
a scholarly fashion, and set ourselves deliberately to discover what idea
was in the poet's mind when he wTOte those lines whose very music has
prevented us hitherto from realising their sense. In fact, most people
do poetry and poets a great injustice, because they will not take the
trouble to think while they re:ul. The mere sensuous pleasure of

VOL. CCXLV. NO. 178S. 3 A

722

Tlu Gentleman's Magazine.

ululated verse, aided by the beauty of the choice and exq
language, or of the dreamy assthetic atmosphere, suffices for their
gratification ; and they will not put themselves out by trying to
understand the deeper lesson which the poe I I ndcavonring to

impress upon their minds. And this is especially apt to occur with
those poems which we have known the longest and fancy that wc
love the best. We feci much like the good old countrywomen who
listen to an dOQJUi M seimon with the d id tell yoo

afterwards that tliey don't exactly know wliat it was all about, but it
was all very beautiful.

Such tr< really very unfair to the great artists who have

lavished their pains ami their skill upon these highest [
thexsthctl for our delight and iiiitru< < tic who

looked at a Rembrandt or a Cuyp would to say tl.

picture was certainly very lovely, though he was not
whether it represented a burgomaster or a group of cattle. Yt
is exactly and literally what many tieople do with the masterpiece* of
poetry. Far from endeavouring to understand all the little Muchcs,
nil the technical triumphs, as the connoisseur in painting endeavours
to understand a I.ionardo or a Turner, the)- ore often satisfied to
misconceive the whole meaning and purport of an entire composition.
They do not even know what the | about, whereas they

ought to study his tie* with the >- oi •

Ruskin or a Pater. To borrow once more an illustration from the sister
art, they are content U i mistake a landscape by Claude ( tocical

figure-piece, and a portrait by Gain*borosgh for an Italian sunset.

Lest the conscientious reader should imagine tlu ' turc

is overdrawn, allow me to relate a personal experience which win
illustrate the literal truth of my stateroi ig the other day

with a friend, who had just express* ■' Lockaley

Hall," I happened to say something about the prop' are of

aerial balloon navigation in that beautiful poem ; when my friend at
once looked puzzled, and after a moment's I confess-,

he didn't remember anything of the sort So I quoted i
lines in all their simple and apparent!;, ,

I dipt into the future, fur as human eye can »re.
Saw Ilia rUiun of the world awl all til that avalil I

iicKcivet.. i i;i -.«« of uug*-

1 ihe purple twilight, dropping down tritficou
Hoard the fceavn ng, and tfcere n>.

Kiom Ike aallont' niry naviet gi. ■ <• cent ml bf

■~' the uiuth m-,-.-.\ raa>»m waist.

itfiof thr«H

A Side-light on Grays "Bard."

723

When I had finished, my friend said frankly : " I never thought
' before : " and on my pressing him as to what he
thought they did mean, he answered at last : " W\:!l. I have read them
a thousand times, and always knew they sounded very pretty ; but it
never struck me to look for any particular sense in them at all." And
yet this was a classical scholar, who had received that English university
,.hich, however great may be its faults in other respects,

.it least to make men read carefully whatever they read. Had
it been a corrupt chorus of /Eschylus or a crabbed allusion in I'crsius,

■ ilt! have been able to have given the various opinions of half-a-
dozen commentators : but, being only a familiar passage from one of
the most consummate artists of modem times, he had never troubled

if to give it two minutes' consideration. Is not such a vague-
ness of idea just as inexcusable in a man of culture as the incapacity

tinguish between a cow and a tree would be in an art-critic ?
One more instance to enforce the existing carelessness of most
il readers to the meaning of their authors. If you ask any
shallow critic what he thinks of Mr. Swinburne's marvellous master-
piece, "Dolores," he will tell you promptly that it is all sound and has
no meaning whatsoever. When you dunce to light upon one of
these easy dogmatists, just open the volume at that lurid poem, and ask
him to read the magnificent verses which describe the real or supposed
persecution of the early Christians by Nero, with their manifold
allusions to Tacitus and Suetonius, and their obvious inspiration
from the terrible gladiatorial pieces with which Ge"r6me horrifies and
enthrals us on his morbid canvas- ' After he has read it through,
ask him what it all means ; and you will generally find that he has
not the slightest idea. Next, construe the passage for him, line by
line, explaining all the allusions, as one would construe and explain
a liard bit in Juvenal or I'indar : and then inquire whether he still
thinks the pocr; nj<k<s. In nine cases out of ten you will

find the conversion of your catechumen is instantaneous. I cannot

:sc that he will love you the better for it ; he nill probably vote

you cither a prig or a bore ; but the mental .1! ;. iplme will do him

worlds of good, and will .show him conclusively that criticism requires

t some little wood .>r's meaning, if

Ing more. Real < requires not only such wooden

intellectual comprcl axiation of beauties

and delicate discrimination of defects as well : yet you will not have

1 The pituge is 100 : n hi h< ,. • 'i c-I staoni zS (o 32,

j»S« 186, 187, in tbe fourth edition of " Poems mwI B«!

3*»

TIte GentUmans Maga

ipeni . -r in voin if you only g your

r (who :n 'He age) lo think abort

i he reads before he sits in judgment upon it
Anil new, after this long preamble, I am going to attempt Km*
such slight explanation of three stanza* in Gray's "Bard," one uf those
old favourites of our school-days the full bearing of * I
seems to tw, a fail entirely to understand. Most of the

commentators whose works have fallen icr mistake the

sense altogether, or gloss it over hastily as if uncertain as to hs
intention ; or else, if they prt the true interpretation, do so in such a
;y and perfunctory DMU) to leave H .ist at

much in the dark as the glimmering light of nature would bavt left
tlicm :l M odd of the commentator's lantern. I do not

propose to offer an > remarks upon the ' .scour

age in its exclusive romanticism is still ;i little intolerant of cighti
century verse, and often lacks Uiat catholicity which woul I
to ip| ' ray and Collins after their kin

Keats and Shelley after theirs : but I merely wish to
seems to rac the plain and literal interpretation of these t
mistaken stan. really enclose the central point of thai great

typical ]>oem.

Gray is above everything a learned poet. An Eton boy and i
Cambridge man by education, a student by cho Mbit, all kis

verse is full of recondite al ! from tkc

standpoint of a scholar and a cb much more

than the usual learning of the eight* Mary IK- took an

interest, then very rare, in Mediaeval hi i'o hits.

the reigns of our Plantagcnct kings were nut the men- " dark age*,*
the " Gothic times," that they were to too many of his contetnporanct.
History did not begin in his eyes with the acce VIII

He could read end enjoj the . cpirit

which was not often found before the great Medljcv. tioo in

our own day. Moreover, Gray w

literature. His translation < ode on Owa

in the Mcnai Straits is one of the of any

Welsh song. He projected iglisti poo

the engines of our vers.

■
nto the mn

, i

A , J'.t on Gray's " Hard."

735

rots which were $0 common in tbi
• -ceded in
•.rliilc he was possessed by the renwfodci ifl • very vitl|

With such tastes and knowledge to guide him, Gray chose lor the
subject of his greatest ode the popular myth unv.arre

of the Welsh minstt. I I. Whether he did or did not

believe in that exploded story matters little for the critical coin-
prehension of his poem. True or untrue, the old legend oil'i red an
admirable situation for such a poet as Gray; and he made use of it
accordingly. At the moment of the English king's triumph, U his
army winds slowly " down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy
the massacre of the bards, those Tyrtsei whose savage battkMOngB
had kept alive c hatred of the Cymri for the "Saxon," a

Military survivor of the proscribed and murdered minstrels -.uddeiily
appears before him to foretell the miserable doom of the I'lantagencts

be future glory of the Tudors. After bewailing the loss of his
companions, lying "on dreary Arvon's shore, smeared with blood
and ghastly pale," he goes on to prophesy in language of oracular
vagueness the misfortunes which will befall Edward's descendants.
The wretched murder of Edward II., the deserted deaih-bed of
Edward III., the early fate of the Black Prince, the mysterious end

chard II.. Ac long strife Of the Red and White Roses, the
hapless lot of Henry VI., and order of ihc young king

rd V. and his brother by Richard III., " the bristled boar," arc
all passed in rapid review. Last of all, the poem ends with the three
stomas on which I wish in particular to comment. They run as
follows:—

•Edward, lo ! lo

fWcMt *e the woof; Tha tJirr-1.1 li spun :)
Half of tliy heart we consecrate.

(The web it wove ; The work is done ; )

Slay, O stay t nor thus foitorn
Leave me unbleu'd, nnpilied, here 10 mount :
In yon bt Uitt

They ntlt, thry k my eye*.

Ih>1 O ! wbal solemn Kent . •

Descending slow 1 1"-" gBlterinj l.nt. unroll !
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight.

Ye unborn ages, crow.' soul I

No more our long-loit Arthur »e bewail 1—
All hail, >< i-yje, hail !

726 The Gentleman 's Magazine.

•Girt *hh many a baron I
Sublime thdt Marry fioiu they rear j

And gorgeous dime*, and statesmen oid
In bearded majesty, appear.

Id the madu, a form divine I

Hci eye proclaims her of the B

lice lion-port, bet awe-commanding face

AttemperM !£in-gracc.

What strings kymphon

What strain* of vocal transport round lier |>
Hear from the pave, great Txlieuin, hear ;
They breathe a soul 10 St lay.

Bright Raptsrc call*, and, flowing as the
Who in the eye of Heaven her many col.jtar'd wins*.

• The vene adorn again

Fierce War and faithful l-ore
And Truth MHM by fairy FtatfOn drest.
■ I measures move
Pnle Crief, and ptaui
Wilh Horror, tyrant Dl
A voice n< <if tlic «hen»l>~: h

I den bear,
i. raiding* lessen on my ear
Thai lust ir. long futurity e.«pirc.

I i tan, think'* thota yon aangu.i

Raiat i Alh hat queaeh'd the orb of day I

To-mono/n lie repairs the golden flood

And warms the nations with redoubted ray.

with joy 1 sec
The different doom our (ales a*.

Be thine Despair and sceptred Care ;
1 1 and to die are mine.

— He spoke, and headlong Crura the mount

i'lc Ik plunged to undies night.

Now, these stanzas, wl M (>tc re . ruin

triumphant conclusion to the poem, alti

universally misunderstood

be comparatively meaningless and futile. The firs:
misfortunes vrl

half foretcls the revival of Welsh dominion ai
under the succeeding Welsh dynasty of the Tud • o*

that the Tudors u ■;■
is overlooked, the whole

A Side-light on Grays ''Bard." 727

in short, regards the accession of Henry VII. as the overthrow of
the Norman {or rather Angevin) house, and the revival of the Kclti<:
supremacy over Britain. Til ! and poetical glori

11 age he identifies with the restoration of the bard:
Shake - arc In lus eyes the successors of Tal

and of the singers who crowded to the court of Llewelyn ap
Jorwenh. Thus his prospective triumph is complete. Not only
will endless misfortunes overtake the descendants of Edward, bui a
Welsh prince will drive them at last from the tl tnd though

irds may be crushed and annihilated for the clay, they will
up once more, greater than ever, in the court of a Welsh prim ......

II, it is true, hinted at the meaning in a footnote ; buth.
planation was so short and inconclusive, after his usu 0, thai

few readc (he comment any better than the text.

In order fully to understand lOM <onveyed in t1

Man/as, therefore, we must glance back at certain facts in our earlier

v which were familiar enough to Gray, but arc not N familiar
to all his read.

no the clay when the mighty wave of Teutonic armed col'

over Britain, the aboriginal Kelts no d firmly 10

c that the intruders would sooner or later be driven out of the
land they had usurped. While the I '.ill held only a long strip

of the eastern coast, C.ildas prophesied that before another century
the he treat once more to the home whence they came.

But the English wave rolled onward, and the real or mythical Arthur
mode a last vain effort to item its advance 1 he victory at

Dcorham, in 577, brought the. "Savons," as their Wei
called them, to id GUI off the Cyrori of Corn-

wall from their brethren in the north. .ith of the

Kelts never wavered, and their popular songs still declared that the
pagans would give place in time to the Christian people whom they
had cooped up among the wild western extremities of the island.
Thirty years later, another onward step in the Teutonic conquest was
taken, when sEthclfrith of Xorthumbria overcame the Cymri at
ti r, and extended the area of English dominion to the Irish Sea,
thus cutting off the Welsh of Wales from tlteir countrymen in Strath-
just as t! -axons after the battle of Deorham had cut

them off from those of Cornwall. Thenceforward, the Keltic race
was split vii ma, on which the intrusive and aggres-

sive 1 untinucd slowly to gain, Before long, the inde-

pendence of Cornwall and of Strathclyde was lost; but among
the rugged hills an itself, the C]

728

The Gentleman s Magazine.

language and nationality survived unimpaired for m.>
turics. Step by step the "Saxons" went on advancing upon
them : under the early English kings they pushed their way along
the Bristol Channel, the Dee, and the Irish Sea ; and under the
Norman and Angevin dynasties, they cooped up the l.ordt of
Snowdon and of Powys in a narrow corner of Cm
of all, ihe Welshmen continued to believe with unwavering confid-
ence in the inppoaed prophecies of Merlin and in the final triumph
of the Welsh nationality. They looked forward lo a time when
England should once more become Britain, and when Englishmen
should i' i ■■■■ n'-^c way to Britons.

In our ears these words arc very nearly synonymous. But they

were not so in the ears of our fathers, and they arc not so in the can

iien at the present day. To them, a Briton meant and

M an aboriginal Kelt , and it is the neglect of this obviotn

has made so many readers miss the point of

Gray's ode.

At length, in the thirteenth century, the last act in the long drama
inquest <m . and the independence of Wales was

destroyed. Edward I. overcame IJcwclyn ap Gruffydd, annexed
territories, and blotted out his family. 'Hie bards had long form
the centre of opposition to th »h power,

prophecies of final Welsh triumph, ami their constant incitement to
war against the "Saxon.'' The story of .ssacrc naturally

enough grew up in time, and afforded a peg for the poet's
lion.

But while all these things were passing in Grea
Britons of Armorica or Brittany had been i famous

of like purport, which was destined to produce wide- spreading
upon English literature. Whether the great eyede of Arthurian
romance was common to both of the Cyi or whether,

as seems most probable, it was first elaboral ihe wild moon

of Bretagne Bretonnantc, and afterv
returned Welsh refugees, matters little to the c<

's ode. Certain it is at least that so- is coo-

story of Arthur had become an integral run ol

the hopes of Welsh
iry Geoffrey of Monmouth had woven the ol
the midst of that strange my t ho I i

i» for 10 many gr
even did not disdain to cod

inf

CO-

A SUc-lighl on Grays "Bant."

729

possible kernel of truth. In tin M

the world, like a genuine bragging Kelt that he was, how the British
nation was derived from Brutus the Trojan ; how • long line oi
kings had ruled over the island from the arrival of th:it mythi. .>l
founder to the invasion of C. Csesai the Dictator j DO* Brfl
emperors had long disputed the succession with the Roman usurpers ;
and how, after the Romans withdrew, the British kings had bravely
held their own against the heathen Saxons. The figure of Arthur
played a principal part in this curious medley, and kept alive the
enthusiasm of the Cymri in the face of ever-aggressive Not;
Invasion. Henry II. visited the old British monastery of Glaston-
bury— the Yays -vitrain of the vanquished Kelt) for the express
purpose of discovering the tomb and remains of Arthur, and so de-
monstrating the falsity of the legend in accordance with which he
was believed not to have died, but to have taken refuge for a white
in " the island valley of Avilioo," where he should heal him of his
grievous wound, and return in the fulness of time to drive the Saxons
out of the land. Constance of Brittany, herself a Kelt 01 Armori

1 ue of Arthur to bet hapless child] Henry's grandson,

who might have united QDOC DON thl the lesser Britain,

and ruled as a Briton over the it his murder

by las uncle, King John, crushed out the hopes of an immediate
Arthurian revival, and left the Welsh to watch and wait unceasingly
rly three centuries longer. So they watched and waited, till
;n the end the prophecy of Merlin was fulfilled.

Meanwhile, even after Edward's conquest, ll»c Plantagcnets were
unable to reduce Wales to a willing submission. A ring of great
lortresses at Conway, Caernarvon, and Harlech, girt round the Snow-
donian region all in vain. The national IV ;rong as

r, ready to break out into open revolt on the slightest provocate
Once, in the reign of Henry IV., .1 Welsh chieftain, Owain Glyndwr,
the Gleadowct of Shakespeare, nearly succeeded in establishing
impendence. Early in tin fifteenth century lie assembled a p
liamvnt at Dolgelly, and signed a treaty of alii.
which begins in assured regal style, "Owinus Dc
WalliaV' and speaks throughout in the genuine tone of independent
royalty. But the Lancastrians were too much for the new !
Wales, and the hopes of Cj 1 mality once more sank into t

porary abeyance.

One of the many prophecies attributed to Merlin declared tfa it
Richmond should come out of Brittany to conquer England. In the
reign of Henry V., Arthur de Richemont, son of the Duke of Brit-

730 The Gentleman 's Magazine.

tany, a Kelt, and a bearer of the destined name, was taken prisoner
at Agincourt But Henry refused to sanction hi* ransom, and thai
another Arthur was lost to British hopes.'

At last the fulness of time arrived for the fulfilment of Mci
oracles. The way in which a claim to the throne of the Blantagenett
passed into tlw hands of a Welsl was singular enough.

Katharine of France, widow of Henry V., whose rough-and-ready
wooing Shakespeare has set before us in a famous scene, made a royal
me- 'iter her first husband's death, with Sir Owen Tudor,

a Welsh gentleman of small fortune, who boasted, bjr wajr of mm-
pensation, a real or mythical pedigree from the ancient I ngu

Geoffrey of Monmouth had bestowed upon Britain after the »

ml of the Romans a regular line of sovereigns of the mediaeval
type; and from these doubtfi>: I Owen Turlor claimed

derive his descent. His son Kdmund, Earl of Richmond, and half-
brother of Henry VI., married Margaret Beaufort, the heiress of the
Mneof John of Gaunt, by his left-handc Hh Katharine

Su vnlord. The son of this marriage was Henry VH., who was thus
closely related with the Lancastrian family on citl nh/

by lateral connexions ot by originally illegitimate descent.
sin; throne wi Beauforts, and the

which declared their legitimacy aba declared them incapable of suc-
ceeding to the crown. llen< e the Tudor family, having a very weak
hereditary I it If, did the best to strengthen it by marriage
rqireientativex of the Yorkist House, and above all by magnify
the grandeur of their traditional descent from the early British kings.
Bijr of R was thus by birth an ap-Tudor and a

Welshman Hehadahouseat Abermaw ori rddocn, wtl

we F.nglish barbarously Anglicise into Barmouth .
known as Tygwyn-yn-Bcrmo, is still pointed oat to visitors at the
present day. When he invaded England, he came from tlrii
that 1 it; i ni.-i beyond-Sea which even now retains its a:
language in a form comprehensible to educated Welshmen in spit'
dia: ind thus he fulfilled the pro

that Richmond should come against the i
landed at Millbrd Haven in South V

who welcomed him as theii t from the So

■1 who followed his ttani

1 of Bosworth. On that field, as all W -ed,

the Cymri conquered at last their Knglish oppressors, a-

:cnuatni».
of Outs- Un Nawo."

Side-light on Grays "Bard."

of their own countrymen on the throne of Britain. From the acces-
sion of Henry V1J. Wales was finally pacified, because a Webb
dynasty ruled over Englishmen and Welshmen alike, and the Kelts
felt themselves no longer a subject race, but rather the ruling nation-
ality of Britain.'

From first to last the Tudors never forgot their Welsh origin. It
was their cue to dwell rather upon their glorious descent from the
ancient British Icings than upon their doubtfully legitimate inheritance
of the Plantagenet crown. Henry himself called the heir to his
throne, the first-born son of his marriage with the Yorkist princess
Elizabeth, by the ancient British name of Arthur. Had the young
prince lived to sit upon the throne, the prophecy of Merlin would
have been fulfilled to the letter, and Arthur would have come again
to rule over Britain. But unhappily the bearer of that fated name
died before his father, and left his young maiden-widow, Katharine
of Arragon, as a legacy of misfortune to his brother Henry VIII.
Neither the bluff king himself, nor his daughter Elizabeth, ever
neglected their Welsh subjects, The great queen was never tired of
hearing her poets allude to her mythical Cymric origin, and one of
the nearest ways to that matt of v.inilv and CApritt "hiili |>asscd

muster for her I. to sing of her mighty ancestors Corincus,

Cardials, and Cadwallader.

Thus Spenser, when about to give his versified edition of » leoffiey

of Monmouth's history, begins the recital with a preamble after this

fashion : —

More Mtplc Ipirit llian Iictlu-rki WM wount

Here needes me, whiles the famous Auncvslryct

f if my most dreaded s >vcraigM I recount,
By which all earthly Princes the doth bl lurmounL

Thy name. O MfmSM QdMB&j thy rvalinc, and race,

Irmii i.'ii-. n. in .wnicil l'lmr.- .iiiivcil arte.

Who mightily upheld thai roystll mitt

Which now ihou Ijcar'it, to thee descended fnrrc

Prom mighty Kings and Conqucnmr:. in « I

Thy fathers and Greatgrandfather* of old,

Whose noble deeds above tin: Notthva italic

Immortal Fame foi cm hath enrold ;
As in that Old Mans booltc they were in order told.'

Here it will hardly be necessary to remind the reader of the Faerie
Qteene that the prince in question is Arthur himself, from whom

' It r. u interesting tact that in the veins of our present Royal family I
the commingled Mood of Cerdic the West-Saxon and Owen Tudor (hi Welshman,
«f William the Norman and Malcolm the Scot.

* Fatty Qiuntt, Hook ii, t/aiilo X. MuUUZ-4.

732

Gentleman's M

Elizabeth is said to derive her " linage." The chronicle which fullotrs
details the succession of ancient British Itii ,s accord

the vvi ..•offrcjr, from the landing of Brutus the Trojan to the

reign of Uther Pendragon, father of Arthur. In a later book the
history is continued through the mythical line of Goriois and Vortipore,

in the prince! vboa Speotei coonemonta as Rhodoricke, Howell
and Griffyth Coata. I ir.nll.. the whole account is completed
with the following prophecy : —

d both the-.' «Wcw :

IB shlUI » li' «O0t1

Of Xcuslria* come toriag willi a crew
Of hungry whclpcs, his battailous boM brood,
w elawrs were newly d lity Mom!,

:i«ul shall read
Th' usurped erowne, at if that he were wood)
And the spoile of the country conquered
BoUagM Ul yomg one* shall divide with Ununtyhcd.

win 11 the term* b full acorai
i Ix-rc shall a >| liatb long ■

Bene in his a*hc* raki
Bee freihly kindled in the fruitful He
i ii Mona, WBBrtit lurked in exile ;
Which diall brcakc forth into bright burning lUrtw,
And reach into the houx that bore* the stile
Of royall Majesty and i.iiue :

So shall the Briton blood their crowne again reclame.

Thenceforth, eternal! union shall be made
Bcli i itions different afore,

And Mcrcd Peace it iidc

The warlike minds to leame her goodly Ion,
And civile ami'

Then shall a I: . rainr. whWh shall

Sir ciih her white rod over the Belglckc ahore.
And the great C t *0 MR wilhall,

That it shall make him shake, and thinly learn to fall.'

ikespcare, too, gives us many hinl ihcre

can be little doubt that the well-known ft King II<

bctwi len, the king, and .'■ idooad out

of compliment tu the Queen's Welsh ancc.'
great Englith hero, as Shakespeare's contemporaric
and as a Lincaxtrian indirectly connected with the Turlar •
is proud to call himself ;> Harry of Mom
in token i Ish nationality

' The "Saxon-." ardtbr J>»nr».

Side-light on Gray's "Bard."

ere thrown into the play out of deference to the fanciesand
predilections of Elizabeth's court. It is not without reason that the
braggart Pistol is made to exclaim, " Not for Cadwallader and all his
goats ! " and then to cat his words with the unwelcome leek ; and
when Pistol applies the expression " Base Trojan " to Fluellcn, the
allusion to the myth of Brutus and the origin of the Britons must
have been quite obvious to an Elizabethan audience.

And now, if the reader will tum back to the concluding stanzas
of Gray's ode, quoted on a previous page, lie will sec that the bard

Furatcly foresaw this final victory of the Welsh nationality. ( inly
the light of these facts can we understand his triumphant cxclama-
l

■33

>n —

N'i mwc our lon^-lo-.l Arthur we bewail :

All hail, jrc (c&uIm kb intift >■■<"■, hail '

It is the Tudor dynasty, the restored Welsh line, that the minstrel
sees with his prophetic vision. It is the Elizabethan age that seems

I to him the fulfilment of Merlin's oracles, the enthronement of Bri
tannia's issue, and the end of Saxon supremacy.

In tin' miii-.i 1 form divine !

Her .ye prOCUim her d the Hrilon-liiic.

To us, the Briton-line means at first sight simply English; but the

thard sees in the person of Elizabeth the restoration of" the am & 1
British monarchy and the renewed glories of the Bardic period
Ancurin and Talicsin live again in Shakespeare and Spenser. The
massacre of Edward is a fruitless cruelty. Bereft of his wife, looking
forward to the doom he has heard pronounced upon bit children, the
king will feel his wicked work has been all in vain. But the bard
can confidently expect the final restitution of his race and order, and
can cry with his last breath —

ErIOQgh fm mi' : wiih j"v I sec
The different doom our fates auign

Be thine Despair rod ntptnd
To triumph .tihI in ilit- arc mine.

Before I conclude, I should like to offer a word of apology
those historical readers who have already seen for themselves the real
meaning of the ode. To them, of course, my exegesis will seem a
twice-told tale. But there are so many persons, probably, who have
not caught the real meaning, that it may be worth while to point it
out, as this paper endeavours to do, fur their benefit only. I have

I not myself met with any edition of Gray which dearly explains the
purport of these last three stanzas, and I have seen several which

734 "The Gentleman's Magazine.

clearly misrepresent it For example, Mr. Moultrie, one of Gray's
most sympathetic editors, thus writes upon the subject : " After repro-
bating Edward for his cruelties, he with prophetic spirit declares that
his cruelties shall never extinguish the noble ardour of poetic genius
in the island; and that men shall never be wanting to celebrate true
virtue." I merely quote this passage to show how thoroughly the
critic has misread the spirit of the ode by completely overlooking the
reference to the Welsh origin of the Tudors. And when a competent
editor thus misses the main point of the whole work, there can be
little doubt that most casual students have equally missed it This
must be my excuse, therefore, for an examination which the more
learned among my readers may perhaps find needlessly explanatory.

GRANT ALLEN.

735

POCKET BOROUGHS.

" A STRANGER who was told that thii country is unparalleled in
ii, wealth and industry, and more civilised and more enlightened
than any country was before it, . . . would be very much astonished
if he were taken to a ruined mound and told that that mound sent
two representatives to Parliament ; if he were taken to a stone wall
told that tin ; in it sent two representatives to Parlia-

11 ; if he «ere taken to a park, where no houses were to be seen,
and told that that park sent two representatives to Parliament."
sentences were tittered by Lord John Russell in the House of
Commons on the night of the ist of March 1831, and form part of
the preface to the speech in which he introduced his first Reform
Pill. The noble Lord illustrated and supported his affirmation by
reading a list of 6* boroughs, which returned over a hundred
members to Parliament, the parliamentary representation of winch
was as much the private property of certain gentlemen as was the
land upon which the so-called boroughs stood. It is an astounding
list. To mention a few ; there is Minehead, with a constituency of
ten, who voted as they were bidden by Mr. Luttrdl. There was
Budcley, with 13 voters, and a proprietor in Lord Littelton ; Droit-
wich, whose dozen voters belonged to Lord Foley ; Launccston,
which had as many as 15 voters, and a proprietor in the Duke of
Northumberland ; and at the head of the list glorious Gatton, flute
all the householders had a vote, and there were only five to ev
the privilege.

There is, of course, nothing even approaching this condition of
things in die present Parliamentary representation of the United
Nevertheless, what is distantly alluded to as " influence "
is not unknown in a surprisingly large number of constituci \;

the present time, when there are many Intending tlBditktei looking
out for eligible scats, it may be useful to point out a few of the
imenlary boroughs where it b wdl known, in quarters where
these nutters are dealt with, that candidates will have to maki
account with some one over and above the electors.

Taking the constituencies in alphabetical order, we commence at

The Gentleman & Magazine.

Aylesbury, a pleasant little borough , whose four thousand

electors return as many members to Pill .nehester wstfa

its 62,000, or Liverpool with it* 61,000. THe Rothwhild fwnily
have considerable here, and judiciously USC it liy returning

the pre»ent head of the house, .Sir Nathaniel. At Belfast the rune
.)! die Marquis of Donegal to conjure with. It was used in

1874 to confer upon Parliament the advantage of the association of
that enlightened legislator, Mr. William Johnstone, whom a rncr.
Ministry hove •■ -.pector of Fisheries. In Bur)

E<ii 1 Duke of Grail the Marquis of

in tlii; Sufl'ol and l.ord Francis Hervcy, fourth

of the Marquis, irliament Came, one 0 ailc«s of

Enj OUgbs, having only 765 electors on the roll, had a good

deal of glory rcllected u|)on it during the ten <cdtng 1S68,

1 reason M its connection with Mr. I. owe. In tlut year, how.

I Edmund Fitzmaurice left an honourable record,

and his father, the Marquis of Lansdowne, returned him to the House
of Commons m the name of the electors of Calne. The eieetonl
history i 1. portentously placid. Only onee since the Reform

Bill has it known the an mci ■incnt of a conti

Tina anu in 1859, when Mr. I .owe was presented with the boron,
and an audacious Conservative, named 1 1

e arrangement, Calne, though unaccti l to the opportunity

of/deciding between conflicting claims, nobly did its du
Mr. Lou head of the poll, by 103 votes against 25. In thosr

the number of registered electors was 258.
In Caidil ■ of Bute has considerable influcn

has been ineffectually used against the predominance of
feeling which has uninterruptedly maintained a Liberal vote in
HOUR of Commons fl U of a quarter

narvonshirc Lord I ba tower of Btreogtb,and I ■

son and hen ■• county in Parliament I .in,

with a brief interval followi the grca' 1

1868, the county of Carnarvon has l>ccn an appanage ol

[lie, and now noble, family at I'enrhyn Castle. Colonel
Pennant being in 1865 crea-.
men I, his son. Colonel
the House of
brill* lowed in 1868 the alarnn

ndependra .00

first opportun

Pocket Boroughs.

737

represented Carnarvonshire, and the anticipate.! friction at the axle
of the earth was averted I'enrhyn Castle, as everyone knows, will
lm 3gain pained and shocked by the appearance in (he field at the
forthcoming general election of a popular candidate, who will dispute
the right of the Honourable George to a scat in Parliament, which,
to do him justice, he does not abuse by too great frequency ol use
I'enrhyn Castle awaits the issue with confidence and dignity.

In Chester the Grosvenor family have considerable influence,
•whichever since the Reform liiil has been used to return a Grosvenor
at the head of the poll. Unhappily for the Liberal cause, the supply
of Grosvenors fell short in i860. When Bar! Grosvenor, member for
Chester, succeeded his father in the then Marcmisntc, there was only
one brother left, and he was mi Flintshire. \ second 1.

was returned for the city; but the first place 00 the poll was gained
by a Conservative, the present Chairman of Committees. At Chi-
chester the very considerable influence of the Duke of Richmond is
beneficially exercised to provide a scat for Lord Henry Lennox, a
statesman otherwise much neglected of fortune. At Chippenham, a
lktle Wilts borough, Sir John Nccld has a good deal of property, and
when its 900 electors returned two members, did the borough
the favour of representing it in company u ith Mr. Goldney. In 1 868,
the representation of the borough being reduced by the action of the
Conservative Reform Bill, the Baronet retired gracefully, leaving Mr.
Goldney in possession of the field. Sir John h.is, however, several
sons of eligible age, and should the ambition of any one of them be
turned towards political life, we may miss the present chirpy member
for Chippenham.

At Cirencester the Bathurst family have a good deal of property.
Tien la foy" is the motto of this noble house, and it may be added
that they have also held to their borough, a Bathurst or a friend of
the family having filled the seat as far back as the memory of man
goes. The present carl sat for the borough till March last year,
when he was called to the Upper House. The crisis found him
unprepared with • proper successor, his eldest son being only fifteen.
This is a tailing which time will mend. In the mean time Mr.
Chester-Matter is good enough to keep the scat warm, ami Ciren-
cester is content

Dorchester has 757 electors and Lord Ah'ngtOO, the latter of
prime importance at election limes. Dudley elcctorally belongs to
the carl of that ilk. The heir of the earldom, Viscount Ednam, being
only twelve years of age, Mr. Sheridan continues to hold a seat
which he has occupied for upwards of twenty ft
rot. ccxr.v. so. 17S8. 3 b

73S The Gentleman's Magazine.

l>u! U I can recollect, the smallest lioiough

I living a re; the electoral roll number*

317. The Duke of Devonshire has some property here, but
Influence, if it has been *t 'I. has never prevailed ova

thi chims of «'] Lite. Em ! iclongs, to a con-

to the Earl of Eme. lib son and heir, Lord
1 the be*

1 j .-, bi Suffolk, :s as much the property of sir
honour.: net's note or his right arm. I : was

reprcsc: Sir E. Kerrison, father or son. In July 1866, the

present 0001 trig weary of legislative duti-

borough, nominating as his SUCce or L that mute Inst

not inglorious minister. Helstone, a little (
thousand electors, dances to

.'.1 r influences are occasionally at work, as is suggested by the
1 1 1 tluit in two successive years, 1865 and 1866, there <,.

ill of unseating one of tl tbt

influence of the Mar Ijrl

;< 1. Pot many years, dating from 1855, a Cowjicr nt for the
borough ; but in these Litter days the influence of the Contcrv."
. and Lord Salisbury's nephew, Mr. iulhtur
Hertford like of Norfolk lias connections with

rs ago, were influential enough 1
• young Lord the borough. But of 1 lact

BOO Ngrown du< :ncc. Huntingdon, t)ie liorouajd

for which General Peel tin interruptedly sat from the date of the Reform
Bill to the time of his death, owns the influence of the Earl of Sand-
wich, which, tested a couple of years ago, was at least suificientlj
powerful to defer the arrival of Mr. Arthur Arnold in the House
of Commons, l.aunceston has for some time been intimately con-
nee the family interests of the Deakins. Colonel Deakn

ted to sit at the last genend election, 0 Sad

a Urge majority. It unfortunately turned out that some of these

the election judges could
not overlook. Colonel I >< cited, whereupon

1 led his son. Two years ago a still mote

e of fidelity was fi .trough.

ncral in
Beaconsnchl lCUlry m

the
Mm rious for

Pocket Boroughs. 739

Launccston on the altar of party loyalty. Accordingly Mr. De.ikin,
junior, retired, and Luinceston gave .1 seat in the House of Commons
to the rejected of many 1 onstituencaes.

Lichfield has from time immemorial supplied a seat in Parliament
to the Anson family. From 183* doira to 1865 there hat, with very
few exceptions, been an Anson sitting for Lichfield The Reform
Act of 1867 took one of the scats from the borough, and with it
apparently the influence of the Ansons, one of whom at the election
of 1S68 found himself at the bottom of the poll. In Ludlow the
influence of Earl Powis is considerable, and was used for some years
to secure the return of his brother, that gallant soldier and high-soulcd
gentleman the late Percy Herbert. 1 n Malmcsljury, Lords Suffolk and
Radnor divide the electoral heritage. A Lord Andover, the heir to
the Suffolk earldom, has sat for the borough whenever eligible by
existence and age. When there has not been a young viscount avail-
able, an honourable Howard of the Suffolk family has been thus pro-
vided for. Here, as at Lichfield, the effect of the Reform Dill of 1867
■•as to alter the balance ot power, and in 1868 the present Earl of
Suffolk, then Lord Andover, appealed in vain to the family borough.
Malton is not less the property of Earl Fitzwilliam than Wcntworth
House. Since 1832, whenever a Fitzwilliam has been available he
has been returned, and the borough is now represented by the third
son of the earl. Midhurst, in Sussex, looks to the Earl of Egmont
for instruction on election days. The present carl condescended to
it for it himself till he was called to the Upper House.

Perhaps the best-known pocket borough in the kingdom is
ewark, which will for all time have a place in history as being the
which first sent Mr. Gladstone to Parliament at the in-
of his and its patron the Duke uf Newcastle. Formerly the
Pelham-Clintons themselves supplied a member, and when the
present young Earl of Lincoln reaches man'* estate he may fill the
place his father once occupied. The Earl of Harewood ia a peer
whose interest candidates for Northallerton would do well to culti-
vate. The earl's family were for a long time kept out of their birth-
right by a Sturdy Liberal named Battie Wrightson. But after three
pitched battles, ranging from 1841 to 1 806, the rights of property
were vindicated, and a Lasccllcs represented Northallerton. Portar-
lington has 140 registered electors, and Lord Fortarlington might,
if he pleased and if the Law permitted, return one of his carriage
horses. As it is he has handed over the care of the borough and its
electors to his cousin and heir, Colonel Dawson Darner, who, on the

I whole, has not proved a success.
3B2

74Q

The Gentleman's Maga

Rich Yorkshire, owns the sway of the EarK of

ive Parliaments after the Reform era a Dumb*,
sometimes two, were forthcoming to represent the borough

a e«tl was sitting for Richmond when he wan called to
the HOUK Of Lords. His relative, the Hon. Ch idas, fortui

total] lo be at liberty, was forthwith inducted into

vacant sett For Ripon, the heir of the EarldeGi

Tamwotth belongs for the mot and

ad of the family has, with cl
The influence of the Duke of Bedfoiii i
fly been directed to returning a Kutstll

The brother of the present duke succession,

alio, to the great Lord John. To Ix>rd l/>nvdale and his
DOC in Whitehaven the House of Commons and the country are
largely indebted roc the presence on the Treasury I

Mr. Cave;:

.
Hon [erbert, represents the borough in the pre.'

trdly necessary to mention tliat Woodstock lias beta
lor i i . mm;, and a half the 1' lary bower of the Marlborough

family. Am.irath has succeeded to Amuralh '.ioncd

regularity. If the member fur Woodstock does not happen to lie
Hukedom (the Marquis of Bland! a younger

broti ancle ; but, in any case. lilL

re arc over thirty boroughs in which t!
idual or a family is at least equal to, and often overpowers, that
of the so-called constituency. Except perhaps in the case of Pott-
: scandal is created. Things n ranch

worse; but Uiey might be considerably better. Such as it
iggests its own remedy. It is only in boroughs wfcei
>ral roll ■■•- limited ta one or two (' :eriotM tl

of landlord inllur

tribution of seats takes place.
bor< ! have finally arriv

Million, and a score mi Reform era

I off the Mary ret i votes y

THE ME1IM.R

74»

THE OLD TAVERN LIFE.

|R. JOHNSON used to mif that a tavern chair was the throne

of human felicity, and that there was no private house in

Mild enjoy themselves so well as in a capita] I

oon as I enter the door of a tavern," he snid, in one of his

i.ir utterances, " I experience an oblivion of care and a freedom

from solicitude : when I am sealed, I find the master courteous, and

the servants obsequious to ray call ; anxious to know and ready to

supply my wants: wine then exhilarates my spirits, and prompts me

to free conversation and an interchange of discourse with those

whom I most love : I dogmatise and am contradicted, and in this

conflict of opinion and sentiments I delight."

Alas for the instability of all human institutions, the old taverns
have passed away with so many other better and worse things, and
the Itotor's words have no more significance in the present age than
though they described the customs of the Assyrians under Ti

r, The cosy "Id tavern in which every customer was known to
and welcomed by the host and hostess, greeted with hair -pullings by
the n: is by the woiiu n, has swollen Into the

. comfortless hotel, with if- pompous manager— to whom guests
■•.-rely items in an KCCOUTtl Nook, and who would not deign to be
a personality to anyone under ;i duke or ■ i ibiuel minister— with
ItODtttk servants, who, like the people

tliey wait upon only by their n vast wildernesses of dreariness

retcntiousness, and of that shockl; we have borrowed

America. Or, worse still, the cosy old parlour with its red
curtain un-crossed ceiling, dusky with the smoke of gei

lions, its sawdustcd floor, long i. mfortabk wooden i

and settles, and blazing fire has degem nted into I bar of

the gin.palacc, with its gilded mirrors and execrable tawdry d>
-another blessing from across the All.
There is no phase of the doi England v.

been so graphically and lovingly described in our literature as that
of the tavern. It meets us on the very threshold, in the opening
pages of Cliauccr's famous poem. A stirring sight must it haft

742 The Getttitntaris Magazine.

I that April evening, looking down from the wcnxlen gallcrie* of
the "Tabard," to sec that goodly con nine- and «t»0

pilgrim! entering the great court-yard : the grave, soberly i .ht,

on his kock! horse; the lusty young S h hi* long curling hair,

his en 1 dress, that looked like a ni

All full of ficshe fiou tis white nod red ;

the Yeoman, in his coat and hood of gTccn, with bin sheaf of peacock
asmnrnj the pretty gem mly wimple; the

Monk, in fur-trimmed gown, gold-fastened hood, and " supple I

the stout begging Friar, md piru

nrc mIvo;

the "t*

beaver hat"; the Clerk, Chaut. ik ; the

Sergeant of 1 -aw, in " medic)' co.i I nan

in gown of coarse cloth ; the Doctor of M. lue;

and rest of lint wondrous epitome, ca< net and

picturesque figure of the days before dull Fashion had reduced ihe
presentment of humanity to a hideous uniformity. What a clalt< I
hoofs, * I rl of tongues, what a running to and ft

what a commotion in kiU ! .-en that

nig': he "Tabard " was equal to the occasion :

Tlic clhinihf i* aiul tlic staMct wercn wide.

: all were accommodated with tl the meal

pored and whal a meal of beef and
and c&Jces perhaps for I

have been— for men itvl

drank water only wl>en they could £ "• r— and whet

was served in the long, rush-sin died "[

up by a blaring fire of logs and by red flaring torchct, all Mt dowi
supper, according to each one's degree i the taro<

Kti IcJin and Plotn

Ft ; in * simple <••

-•t only in company

have been I What platierfuU of the good food Um
the Sotnpnour, ami (hi

I li- li ..i!li ... v.

Not an appetising sight, to our modern idi
gr. for xwwry mors.

Nun wli und to v

.i tier llpf.
Nr wrt her fiojtu In ker mom ■!

The Old Tavern Life.

743

l! quips and cranks, and jests and laughter, and snatches of song —
not always of the most and at which the pretty Nun mutt

have blushed, and the Knight and the Man of Law have looked grave
— were bandit.! n Pardoner and Sompnour, and Miller and

r-riar, between Franklin and Wife "t Hath.

But tlie presiding genius of the fast it mine Host :

A seemly man oai Ho.it ant uithal

For to have been a marshal I in ■ lull ;

A Uugi man he was. with eyen steep j

A I. here none in Chcpe :

li-il'i ■>! l"» ipmh, and wim, and well yi m^x

And of manhfioii jrhckSd Mb tight aught
his is no humble, bowing sycophant, but a man who holds his own
with the best of his guests, sit.-, at table with them, arranges their
entertainment on the road, proposes 10 treat the best story-teller
to a supper on his return from Canterbury, rides with them as
their guide, and stipulates that any person who shall gainsay his

judgment

Shall pay for all we spenden by the way.

In fine, he becomes the director of the pilgrimage, and every person,
of whatever condition he may be, must defer to him. The tone of pel
feet equality in which he addresses his guests, which is rather that of
some rich gentleman extending a magnificent hospitality than of a
public caterer, is highly significant of the social position of the
tavern-keeper of the day, and Harry Bailly is drawn from life.

A famous place was the old borough of Southwark in those clays
for noble inns, for its main thoroughfare was the high ro.nl to Kent
and to all the south-east of England, and bodies of pilgrims were
ever wending their way to the shrine of saintly Thomas', and all who
traded with Kentish towns, or journeyed backwards and forwards to
France and the Low Countries, cither for war, or pleasure, or com-
merce, must pass along that way. So that these innkeepers did a
thriving trade, and were men of mark among the burgesses. Mine
host was a very centre of news— a kind of living newspaper to all
the neighbourhood, for he was usually the first to hear the tidings
of the world beyond. Sitting beside his blazing hearth of a night, he
would listen to the merchant discoursing of trade and the price of wool,
how the wars were impoverishing the kingdom and closing the foreign
markets against him ; here the maimed soldier would "fight his battles
o'ct again," and " show how fields were won," and tell of great battles
and defeats of the enemy, and stories, a little exaggerated, of the
prowess of our noble English captaii monk and the pardoner

would relate the last new discovery of saintly rehes, and de»

The GcntUntaris Maga

ascetic, ami, perhaps, the lu istkal ccai < veiled

gallant would discourse eloquently upon the las: .an faihion

in shoes and gipstrcs, and perhaps chime in with the mere!:

idee and velvets : while a yeoman from w.i
part and some trader of South wark would talk in grave, low voice),
upon the extravagance of the Court, the tyranny of the favc
the oppressive taxation, the starving people, and the fierce discontent
threatened even' day to I rebellion.

in- lrom the dark days of the IM > hard*, of

French wars, Romanism, and unlettered barbar
effulgence of the Elizabethan era of genius and letters, we come
upon quite another aspect of tavern life, and quit the "Tabard " an J

White Hait" for the " Mermaid," the " Devil,
and the " Boar's Head." The •' Mermaid " has been immortalised in
that famous letter of Master Francis Beaumont, written to Bcw
Jonson from the country, while lie lay and dreamt "of your full
Mermaid nine."

What things have we seen
i torn 'i»J wordnlini ha«c i«nn

■0 full of soUlc 0
A I If that every one from v. I. caste

I tad meant to put his whole wit m \ jc*t,
■ -olved to live a fool tbe rest

Hun, when there hilh been throw*
Wit alilc enough to justify the town
For three days past : wil that might w»rratil tie
For the whole city to talk foollthlv,

led; and when that w*>
We left *n ait behind n», « b
Was able ti> ma ..ompanics

il witty ; though but dowmight fools, ■

The " Mermaid " was
another entrance in Fi : ere, according to .

are loth to reject, Rnleigh espearr,

Beaumont, Fletcher, Scldi ml

many otlicrs were mem
combats took place between Jonson and
cor:: >veen a Spanish great galleon an

man-of-war. "Mailer Jonson (like the former) was bui
in I ilow in l

rm K*!li

coal:

The Old Tavern Life. 745

the Knglish man-of-war, l> liter in s.iiling, could

uid lake advantage of all winds bj thequick>
of hit wit ■ too."

the ' 1 levil, io 1
t, which 1 the rite now occupied by "Child's Place,"

and En which was held the Apollo club, of which Rare Be

dent Th. ii iters of gold upon a black ground,

written by Jonson, and placed ov< ntrance to the root

lugs were held, is still preserved, together with the
if Apollo, in 1 hod's Bai Ii \ ih< nteny, rollicking lines show
what jolly topers these 99 of the Sun God were. Thus

they run : —

■ . olio.
Here he tpeak* out of!

Ol III.: I: rr lioltlc :

All ii 're divine,

truth iutlf doth Ron in wiu
IIahk "i1 I .

old Shn, tin- king of nktn;1

lie the half of life abuses.
I bat sits watering willi tlic Muses.
in good can mo"

And the pott's, hone accnun:

Tii the iniu PheoMaa li,|Hni,

.hi. makes uii ill.-
DM all disease*,

it once tnn
omc all wbf
•1 1 the a < • "i Ape

" O Simon Wadloe, the landlord, a man of I

rtions, and a witty fellow himself, as the host of such witl
ought to I in whom, it 1 rupposed, was written the

is catch " Old Sii Simon 11 a the

aibed in L I tto which signified) "If the

lit did not agree w: take another gli

morning ami it «

Ben Jonson of th! is said to I

:n order b

1- the " Leges Convivales " in very choice I

they were
engraved in bltt . and fixed up against one of the walls of the

' Cii,

746 T/ic G>-nth-maris Magazine.

room. They enjoined tb: ould pay hi* own ahot, unlets

in the case of a friend being brought u bed ihr n

lewd fop, and the sot as the plagues of good company, for their
state mfl to be composed only of the learned, the witty, the jovial,
the gay, the generous, and the honest ; and to exalt the deli; I
one was to be debarred from his choice female nu;> ukittg

was to be good, and the taste of e t was Jo be consulted ;

tl'.crc was to be no disturbance about place or precedence, for the
sake of shewing nice breeding or vain pride ; the waiter* were to be
always on the alert, and alw.ivs silent, and the wine was to be of the
best under pain of a broken head to mine host, and no sober bigot
was to think it a sin to push round the moderate bottle ; the contest*
were to be of books rather than of wine, to be

neither noisy nor mute, all serious and d jectl WW

bidden, and the entertainment was to conclude ■ , wit,

dancing and singing, that every sense might be regal 'light;

raillery was to be without malice, dull poems were not to be read;
but a snug corner was to be found for the love-sick to sigi>
vu to be no fighting with goblets, nor tweaking of window
destroying of furniture in wanton pranks, and whoever published
what was said or done at these assemblies was I
banished.

If that dull, cold marble bust 0 9* Numbering

in the dusty, uncongenial atmosphere of the old tanking liousr,
could but be endowed for one hour with the faculty of S]
memory, what rare stories, what ■■■ Id rescue from everlasting

oblivion, I more of the man Shakcspe

uuoai than biographer
glean In a hundred years' search. I magi' <omc

thing of the scene and the characters, maj

herculean form seated in state, his rugged Dl carved
by intellectual fire, gleaming with
he hurls some terrible bolt of satire at an adversary ; the 1
-0 full of the divine afflatus, and wit!'
tuns of forehead— of the gentle Shakespeare, lit up b>
humour of the moment ; that model of a handsome, gallant gentleman,
Fran* and Jk>w handsome the men of that age WCTt<

type of countenance was t1
coarse, sensual visages of those of the post-i'

1 his name is to be 1 thai

ine eu never be thou > final

The Old Tavern Life.

747

syllable. Thither, too, doubtless, came Raleigh, with his fine face,
bronzed on the Spanish main, to give a flavour of the sea and the enmp
to the rich medley dish of wit. Some Of the players, too, would walk
up from the " Blackfriars" with Shakespeare, after the pity w:i I over, the
stately Burbadgeand witty roystering Will Keinpc, not to know both
of whom was to be B person of very little consequence in those days.
And so we may 50 on imaging until we have assembled all the wit Of
the age, as doubtless it was at different times, around Jonson's elbow
chair. What a symposium ! Could the ancients have shown am
thing like it ? 1'crhaps; but certainly not the moderns of any other cu .
t flagons of canary and sack, and clary and sherris, mutt the
jovial crew have despatched, amidst the fumes of the Virginian n
from the pipes of Jonson and Raleigh, and all who had studied the
" noble" art introduced by the gallant Sir Walter.1 And thus, leaning
.cV in our easy chairs, we may conjure up a faint picture of those
ts at the " Mermaid" and the "Devil." but the airy phantoms are
bless ;. and they may laugh, and drink, and smoke, and move like
puppets, — we may even fancy we hear the thunder of Ben's stentorian
lungs, — but no imagination, however vivid, can bring forth out of the
lent past the glowing words, the soul of those symposia ; they have
vanished into eternal silence. One or two stories, apocrypha! maybe,
vecomc down to us, but they are scarcely worth repeating. Here
is a specimen : it (a told of a country squire, brought to the club one
night by a member, who doubtless thought to deeply impress til
wanderer from bucolic regions by the brilliant company he would find
imself among. But the yokel, instead of listening, talked, and all his
ortversation was about his own importance, his daily habits, and his
l- property, until Jonson, losing all patience, roared out, "What
o your diet and your clods signify to mcr* Where you have an
of land I have ten acres of wit." To which the man of clods
lied sharply and readily, " Have you so, good master wiseacre?"
lich was a retort Ben did not look for, and he growled forth,
amidst roars of laughter, for all loved to hear the dogmatist put down,
that he had never been " so pricked by a hobnail before."

Another famous tavern of the day was the "Mitre" in Fleet

1 Smoking «ru regarded n* "a noble art '■ upon its, f>r*t Introduction, Ewiy

or tobacconist's shop wis an academy, where professors initiated
iptr&nl In the (pilan ebolitis, the euripus. the whiff, how to suppress and •Atn
> eaiit the smoke : nntl tobacco was accredited by it* vendors with til Klsf-

fal medicinal properties, was proclaimed t>> be * panacea for tltaotl WW) ill that
flesh is licit to. Ben lunaou and nearly all the old drag

cpl Shakespeare, who never once makes any mention of il- a nioit
ife and unaccountable omission in so univctuA a. texC\>u..

743 The Gentleman 's Afdgasitu.

Street ; therein is laid one of ibe scenes of * Evcty Man Out of ha
Humour," and Carlo falls into as great rupture user the «ri
would a puff advertisement in Hi year of grace , it is nectar,

the very soul of the grape, it will b md kindle the

imagination. The house was celebrated for its supper*. I Mitre '

Mppcr" passed into a saying to describe all I in die

way of feasting. An old MS. song bearing the titlr " Shukspcarc'i
Rime which he made at the Mytre in Fleet Street." and lx
by Mr. J. P. Collier to be genuine, has been preserved, which rum

thus : —

h Canary wine,
V, lw nk) and now limine;

Of which had Horace and Anacreoa tailed.
Their lives as well at lino till now had Itni

A ■ all Liter «c shall look in at the old Fleet £

lavem again, to catch n glimpse of quite a different group. The
' 'Three Cranes," in Thames Street, is another inn mentioned by
Jonson as being frequented by the M ' Mure ' and ' Mermaid ' men,"
and there were doubtless many others where lien's lierculcan form and
Sli.iUspcare's gentle Luc were fain. IB Of all taverns

the most famous, in a Shakespearian seme, is tlw " Boar's Head"
in Kastchcap. It is said to have stood upon the exact spot now ©co-
pied by the statue of William IV. The old inn, of counc, went down
in the great lire, and among the debris was found a boar's head carved
in bas-relief upon wood, set in a circular frame, i. two boon'

tusks mounted in silver ; upon the back was .

Brooke, landlord of the Bore's Hcdde, * 1566." The

tavern wax rebuilt in 1668, and it was in the new house, nut
Shakesj>care's, with its oak floor, Gothic windows and ponderous
ipiece, that Goldsmith ruminated so pleasantly, I i-asant

1 ihe very room, as he loved to think, " ivhc:
, and in the very chair n
iry. and sometimes polluted by his imtnn-
conpan old " Boar's 1 1 "iiruc

house ipearc's, or he would scarcely have sclecti •! >< t" t>e the

poncMes
re of the old tavern life is the

men seemed to be equal : the soldier of fortune, the I
r, and 1 1 ICI with cqua!

• ami wassail, u the
clattering of pc.- injcd

' diit and dnlnesi <

The Old Tavern Life.

749

neighbourhood above all others in London. The elder tavern dated
as far back as the time of Richard II., and might have Dumb
Chaucer among its guests as well as Shakespeare. When the second
house rose, after the fire, it was not unmindful of its immoruliscr, for
the figures of Sir John and Prince Hal, carved in oak, supported a
beam ide the door. But it ceased to be an inn long before

finally demol:
The advent of rraise-Gud-Barelwrn. end to these jovial

days : nd players were banished as unclean things; and

the taverns that welt allowed to keep open resou h the doc-

il hymns of Ac MBit, in place of the merry

an'! witty jests ol lly. And the Restoration did not

to the taverns thefa lOltUtce, the intrcwJuction of a

new beverage raising up a formidable rival in the roffci Hitter

were the diatribes fulminated by the oM gainst these exotics ;

prophesied that men would ! ■ ■ nitful as the desert*

ce the berry was brought, and that tli mid ultimately

dwindle into a nation ofpigX I apes, lien Jonson's manly

ghost and the noble phantoms of BeSOtti Fletcher, "who

drank pure nectar with ri ennobled." w led to

look down upon these sons of nought, who gave u re blood of

thegraj* for a filthy drink, syrup of soot, essence of old shoes, the
aroma •■. was called a stink, and its drinkers " horses at a

I it with as many riftw

its traducers did with evils; it tO make the heart light,

good for aoK eyes, for a cough, was | gout, dropsy and scurvy,

evil, spleen, hypochondriac winds; it would keep the skin

mil clean, and. however hot it might be drunk, would never

bum the mouth or tongue. The coffee- house, as the newer

m, won the day, and wit and lean utcd from

" Mitre" and the " to " WilhV the " and the

and the tavern never won ' Id position. 1

ded to make any figure in the world was not a day
absent from the coffee-house he affcrK. I. "At twelve," ears Defoe,
in his " Journey through England," " the beau mende i.% assembled in
various coffee or chocolate houses, of which the best are so near one
another, thai we can sec the society of all in less than an hour. We
are carried to these | ■ kind of chair, or litter, at the very

reasonable cost of a guinea a week, or a shilling an hour." '• Wills,"
through Drydcn's patronage, wax the resort of the wits ; so was the
" Bedford " in after years ; " C I St. Paul's Churchyard, of the

clergy ; " St. James's" of the military and the Whigs ; the " Cocoa

750 The Gentleman s Magazine.

Tree." of the Ton Old Man,' or « Roy

of ihc beauv :'11-' taverns, each was distinguished

,, sign,— as, indeed, was every place of business in tbovc days—
and, except in a difference of ben -o resorts was

much the same. If there were no strong drinks, tobacco wu smoked
in large quantities at most of the houses, and especially at M Wil
where " Kails in stars and gartei n cassocks and bamlt,

pert Templars, sheepish Lid* from the universities, translators and
index-makers in ragged coats of fricw," all pressed to get neat
the chair of glorious John.

a striking contrast to this picture in his description
Man." " We ascended a pair of stairs which brought us into an old-
.here a gaudy crowd of odoi i'otn Essences

were walking backwards and for ilh their hats in their

handx, not daring to convert them to tfadl intended use, lest k
should put the forclops of their wigs into some disorder. We
squeezed through till we got to the a re at a small

•lc wc sat down, and observed that it ■■■■ sj a rarity to nit*

anybody call for a dish of l'olii: nidge, or any other liquor,

as it is to hear a man call for a pj ictt whole exercise

being to charge and discharge their nostrils, and keep the curls of
their pcrri w.i- ■ r order. The clashing of their snusli-box lids

in open: ratting, made more noise than their tongues. Bowi

and cringes of the newest mode were here exchanged 'twin
friend and friend with exactness. They made a humroiag

like so many hornets in a country chimney, not with their talking, but
with their whispering over their new Minuets and Boriti (a
French dance), with their hands in their pockets if only freed from
their snushbo

The ages of Anne and the Georges were hard-drink , and

if i coffee-houses. -Jill

himself
under the table at the ub, in Shire Lane, m be

carried to his chair. That same delightful wri i striking

use of old tavern life, the d

' J'-' JUm

tavern life of ike U< , «•„. w» Ihrn

s Scdlcy - ., .sum,

i, •tul going into llip ImI

MI Bwalftw!) llir CTOWl tl

The Old Tavern Life.

75'

his description of the club held at the " Trumpet" The original
fifteen members have been reduced, by the severity of the laws in
arbitrary times and the natural effects of old age, to five. Sir Geoffrey
Natch, the oldest member, has possession of the right-hand chair,
and is the only one privileged to stir the fire ; he is a gentleman of
ancient lineage, who has run through his estate in hounds, horses, and
cock-fighting, but who is always descanting upon his pedigree. Major
Matchlock has served in the civil wars, and believes no ai tioniiiKuropc
worth talking about since Marston Moor. There is old Dick Reptile,
who speaks little himself, but laughs at all jokes ; he always brings
his nephew, a youth of eighteen, with him, " to shew him good com-
pany, and give him a taste of the world," but whenever he opens his
mouth he is told by his uncle, " Ay, ay ! Jack, you young men
think us fools; but we old men know you arc-" There is also a
icr, the wj| of the company, »ho tells stories of Jack Ogle,
and, having got :en distil lis of " Hudibras" by heart, never quits
the club without repeating them. The fifth is Isaac Hickerstaff him-
self. Each night Sir Geoffrey tntces his descent on both sides for
i generations, and telli the story of Old Gauntlet^ a cock upon
whose head he had once won five hundred and lost two thousand ;
the Major give; 1 de» option of the battle of Nascby j the Bencher
recites his " I ludibras,"and Old Reptile repeats his formula. The club
iccts at six, and at ten Isaac's maid conies with a lantemto conduct
im home. Very decorously put, Mr. Bickcrstaff, but we know you
have been found at the " Kit- Rat " frequently at two or three in
the morning, and when you pay a visit to Dick Estcourt, the actor
incomparable mimic, at the " Bumper," in St. James's Street,
your " dear Pruc " has to wait up for you long after ten o'clock.

Passing on to the Johnsonian era, wc find the coffee-houses begin to
decrease in popularity, and the tavern is once more in the ascendent.
Wc hear little of the dear old Doctor at the coffee-houses, but much
him at the "Mitre." It was there, perhaps in the very room whii h
witnessed the revels of Shakespeare and his boon companions,
Johnson and Boswcll took their first supper together, and it
me thereafter their favourite resort. There were some strong
ints of resemblance, both personal and mental, between Samuel
ohnson and Ben Jonson. Each was abnormally ugly and of leviathan
portions, each was fond of ancient learning, and each was caustic
dogmatic ; if the ghosts of the old days ever revisited this scene
irmcr revelry, they must have been startled at the oracular
thundering? of the later guest, and have fancied that mighty Ben
d been brought back from the world of shadows, and clothed

hi
the
and

you]

had

752 The Gentleman's Magazt

anew in the flesh. Cosy but somewhat )*onderou» in their g.
these meetings have been, ver>

wild revelry <>f " i .lid'men D picture too

a wi hi, the blazing fire flashing upon the otd beams and

niter*, and dark wainscoted walls, putting to shame the feeble glim-
mering of the tallow candle, imparting a ruddier glow to the crimson

drawn across the deep-set window, and dr.' ubunde

into each glass of generous wine. Johnson, seated nm

hair, holding forth with orai id.tr pomposity Roiwrll

on the opposite side, eagerly drinking

mental notes, and casting now and th torjf lialf-con-

temptue pun Goldy, who is fidgi -cm-

stonally interrupting the Doctor by throwing in some of those hap-
hazard flights which made < note like an
angel and talked like poor Poll." In the background is six-fen
Langton. sitting with one leg t und the other, In
clasped upon >'-i; knee, easting upon • net
grot itage that might be taken foi tork on one k.
him, perhaps, the handioi ^ck,
who ills the very marrow of toady Boswcll I

i sarcasm even upon the Leviathan, .
with an indulgence he would not \ ield to any eat

Ilurkc be there— and we do not hear much ol '—

Johnson dominates the conversation. Now and then a more jovial
humour I upon the Doctor, as when he was routed cm:

bed at three o'clock one morning by Bcauclcrck and Langton, to h.

" with " the young dogs" in a Covent Garden I ,-re

h.c roared out a drinking song over a bowl o >k a boat

to Billingsgate and : of

the day. :tor usually drank but little, yet Ik once confessed

that when young he could take Ins three bottle: :rcl

none the worse.
In Hawkins'

ight in 1751, he gave a supp

Iwt now almost forgotten ; and

tabot
-•st llw bow of I
Cuitonu), a Wy of her ac
Iwtatjr, attcmblod. Th
cnt hoi af.pl
»rth bay-leaves, became, forsooth, Mrs. Uuaox «r«

The Old Tavern Life.

753

ve«« ; and, further, he h.v.l prepared for licr a crown of laurel, with which, but
ti<>( till he had invnkrd the Muio. l.y vmie Ci-rcmmiu-s .if In- i.wn invention, lie
encircled her brows. The night poised, as might be imagined, in pleasant con-
versation and harmless mirth, intermingled at different periods with the refresh-
menl of coffee and tea. Alwut live a.m. JnhnwuS face rime with meridian
■ |ili'n.|.iiir, though his drink li;nl hern only l.iu. in.nle- ; I mt the far ■■
lb* company had decried ihtCOloon ol Haulm., and Wtlt «ii!i difficulty mlliccl
to partake of a second refreshment of coffee, whifli wt idod wbCB 'he

day began In dawn. This phenomenon began to put us in mind of our reckoning ;
but the waiters were all so overcome with sleep that it was two hours befiin- a Kill
could be had, and it was tint till near eight that the crediting of the street-door
gave the signal for our departure."

But within the old tavcm life was already sown the germ of it.

destruction ; at the " Turk's I lead," in Gcrrard Street, Soho, Rej noids

had started a club, which afterwards became fatuous as the " Litem?

Club," and which may be regarded as the progenitor of that race

vliich has robbed the tavern of all its glories.

One more glimpse, however. At the comer of Tavistock Court,
Covent Garden, there is an old inn called the " Salutation," whi< h
is now only supported on crutches, and seems to be rapidly going
the way of all bricks and mortar. In an upper room of this house,
on certain nights, some time during the closing twenty years of the last
century, there assembled a company composed of the Prince Regent,
e, Fox, Selwyn, Sheridan, who, under assumed names, although their
persons were well known to the landlady, used to hold high wassail
here, and, when well charged with wine, would sally forth into the
regions of St. Giles's in search of adventures. A little later, at another
"Salutation," in Newgate Street, wc have quite another picture.
"Whcn,"writcs Lamb toColeridgc( 1796), "I read in your little volume,
your nineteenth effusion, or the twenty-eighth, or twenty-ninth, or what
you call 'the Sigh,' I think I hat you again. I imagine to myself the
little smoky room at the 'Salutation and Cat,' where we have
sat together through the winter nights, beguiling the cares of
life with poesy," A strange place it would be thought nowadays
for two youths to discuss poetry in ; but the inn parlour was formerly
an institution ; it was there men sought society and an exchange
of ideas, it was a meeting-place, a relief from the cares and troubles
of home, from scolding wives and crying children. Well, afb :
things have not much changed, the club is but another HUM Bh D
tavern, on a vaster and greatly improved scale, where you may choose
your own company. With the present century we have become more
aristocratic and exclusive, and the tavern, when it ceased to be the
retort of the gentleman, looked for its best customers among thi
to-do tradesmen ; but these have long since deserted it, and even in

VOL. CCXLV. NO. 178S. 3 c

;

754 TJu GcnlLmaris Magazine.

country towns the lincndrnpcr nnd lb i to be found

in a public-house parlour, although the butcher and
their wives be not too genteel to permit hi ill smoke

an occasional pipe there. The old tavern life now exists lor us only
in tlie pages of our novelists, and with them, from Smollett and
Fielding to Dickens, and even to George has been a

favourite subject. What a capita! bit of | : description

of the " M >mpany in t: tg chapter of

'■ Barnaby Rudge"l Who, after reading it, has not wished he had
been seated in that spacious chimney corner, on that gusty March
night, listening to the wind howling dismally among the bare brancba
of the trees, and rumbling in the wide chimneys, and driving the rain
against the windows, while the Bickering light of the fire nude the
i. 'ni roniii, with its heavs timbers ten) panelled iraflS) took a% if it
was built of polished ebony,— listening to the dogmatisms of sturdy
Joe Willet, to Solomon Daisy's ghastly story, and to the subdued
tsnees of Parkes and Tom Cob' i cosiness could surely

be found nowhere out <>i IB inn jxarlour. Yet, perhaps, Mill more
thai scene in the " Rainbow" parlour, in "Silas Mama."
Being a night when the gentlemen customers arc absent, the parleer
is dark and the company arc assembled in the kitchen ; the mere
important customers who drink spirits sit nearest i I iring at

each other as if a bet were depending on the first man who winked ;
while the becr-drinkers, chiefly men in fustian jackets and smock-
frocks, keep their eye lids down and rub their hands across their
mouths as if their draughts of beer were a funeral duty attended
with embarrassing sadness. Who that has cvti in a

country inn, and not been too proud to drink a glass in the common
room, has not heard some such conversation as that carried oa
Men Bob Winthrop the butcher. Mr Macey the Mi.

Tookcy the parish clerk, and the rest of those village c: Bbj

even hcTc the great n g long-past days, when the

re's sons did not d:- moke a churchwarden clay and drink

h, and discuss the " burning que I the day, chiefly panUi

grievances, with the tradesmen of the village.

A more roystcring, jovial picture of the last of the old tavern
days is that given by Washington Irving, in one of the delightful
papers of " The Sketch- Book," of the club
Lads of Little Britain," held at the " H ■ n by one

WagstatT, in whose fan: . The

club has a collection of glees, catches, at stories, I

traditional to the jiiacc, and Hi .rt of

The Old Tavern Life.

755

the metropolis. There is a mad-cap undertaker, who is inimitable at
a merry song ; but the life of the club is bully Wagstaff himself, ■
dapper little fellow, with bandy legs and pot-belly, a red face, with
moist, merry eye, and a little shock of gray hair behind. At every
club night he is called in to sing his " Confession of Faith," which is
the famous old trowl from the old English comedy "Gammer
Gurton's Needle," the burden of which is, —

Back and iidcs go bare, go bare.
Both foot and hand go cold,

But belly God send thec good ale enough
Whethet it be new ot old.

It has been a standing favourite at the " Half-Moon and Bunch of
Grapes " ever since it was written, and Wagstaff affirms that his pre-
decessors had often the honour of singing it before the nobility and
gentry at Christmas anniversaries. " It would do one's heart good to
hear, on a club night, the shouts of merriment, the snatches of song,
and now and then the discordant bursts of half-a-dozen discordant
voices, which issue from this jovial mansion. At such times the street
is lbed with listeners, who enjoy a delight equal to that of gazing into
a confectioner's window, or snuffing up the steam of a cook-shop."

But all this is only the pleasant and picturesque side of tavern
life : the reverse of the medal would not be agreeable, and another
hand might paint scenes of sottishness and debauchery that would
make the reader very thankful that those old times have passed away.
Yet it is not because there are beasts in the world that there should
be no more cakes and ale. As an essential part of the times and
the men of whom we have, as a nation, most reason to be proud, we
must always look back upon the old tavern life with a lingering in-
dulgent fondness, much as we think of some pleasant scapegrace who
i*, in our secret heart, endeared to us even by his very follies and
naughtiness.

H. BARTON BAKER.

756

The Gcntlanaris Magazine.

TABLE TALK.

THE tcahctic world b grt iied by a proposal 10 pull

down and rebuild the west front of : , at

Venice. By the time these linen »Xt in the haodsof my readers, indeed,
it is possible that the commission « *% on the subject

will have decided to commence the work at once. A memorial

■ ssed to tl
1 i.ily praying him . idalism. Among

those who bave taken t: live in this scheme are L

Houghton, Mr. Morris, Mr. E. J. PO] rnc

Jones, Mr. Holman Hunt, Professor Rtdunund, Mr. W. Bell Scott,
i . W. Stephi U, I'rofessor Bryce, and others well known in con-
rt. 1 hope their efforts will 1« successful. \\ 1 ut s
curious Illustration would not the !<-• monument

of Byantine art afford ah of Mr. Kuvkin's words in his Man-

cm ii talk of the scythe of Time and the tooth of

Time. I tell you, Time is scythclcss and toothless. It is we *bo
gnaw like the worm— we who smite like the scythe. . . . All thrtc lost
treasure in intellect have I- "ian

industry of ton ; the mar. c stood it* I

thousand years as well in the polished statue as in th till,

but we men have ground it to powder and mixed it with our own
ashes." Not quite true arc the views thus eloquci but

they convey enough truth to be worth stui is desir-

able that the public should know the reason why so exs .an

outrage upon taste has been contemplated : if. indeed, thcr.
not — as I fancy there may be — some misconception on the pa--:
Mr. Morris and his associates.

knOSt thai Penjguetnc, the capital nous p«i dis-

trict of Perigord, has a cathedral belonging to the same dale
the same order of . ., i he case.

IIS

built between 976 and 1047. It is a iup< 1

dominate

seem as if ill

Table Talk.

757

Derby and Sir Walter de Manny, or seen the Earl of Oxford— Quenfort,
Froissart calls him — when, captured by surprise, he was carried in
triumph through the gales. On its architectural claims I will not
speak. Its effect, however, is marvellously impressive. The extent
to which this edifice has, in the course of the French mania for re-
storation, been restored, is difficult to say. By those who ought to
know, I am told th.it nothing more has been done than to take out
decayed stones and supply their places with new ones. On the other
hand, I have received private information that the old cathedral has
been destroyed piecemeal and rebuilt. The appearance of the
building, and the state in which a portion now is, favour this view.
Whatever is done is, however, surrounded with mystery, some, at least,
of the inhabitants being in a conspiracy to keep the iecrel de Polichinelle.
I advise Englishmen going to Bordeaux or to the Pyrenees, to turn a
score miles out of their route to visit one of the prettiest and most
romantic towns of Central France. So far as regards the traveller to
Bordeaux, indeed, if he takes the line by Orleans, Chateauroux, and
Limoges, Pe"rigueux is on his route.

DURIMl the past autumn certain of our newspapers have bOCB
occupied with the wholesale destruction — for to this it
amounts — o singing birds which is carried on by the bird-catchers.
Thousands of skylarks and other birds are netted and sold in the
streets at prices which, though apparently nominal, arc none the
less excessive, since the poor creatures, caught and caged after a
knowledge of liberty, almost invariably pine and die. Much as I
dislike needless legislation, it is imperative that this traffic should be
put down, seeing Uiat national calamity is its certain result. The
scheme of Nature cannot be violated with impunity, and of this
small birds arc an essential portion. It is only since the all but-com-
plete extirpation of birds in France that her crops have been subject
to the terrible ravages they now experience ; and it seems likely that
her most remunerative product, the grape, will be the forfeit exacted
for the perfect rage of destruction which animates all classes in that
country. Jackdaws, magpies, and a few species of swallows and
is are the only birds ordinarily seen in France.
The zeal of the hot pursuit of small birds which in France is desig-
nated by the name of sport is a subject of endless ridicule in England.
We have on our own part, however, ample subject for shame and regret.
The self-styled naturalist who, for the sake of stuffing birds, shoots every
rare visitor to our shores, is the more contemptible, though the bird-
catcher is the more destructive. It is not generally known that the

Tht Gentleman's Magazine.

bird-catcher uses tame singing birds as lures. This readiness of

various animals, from the elephant downwards, to assist in betraying
into captivity their free brethren is a strangely human proceeding,
and shows what power we lave of communicating our vices to the
creatures we domesticate.

A FEW words lately spoken by Sir Fitzjames Stephen in his charge
to a grand jury at I-iverpool are of weighty Import. Apropos
of a shooting case, he declared that " it seemed to him a monstrous
thing that people should be allowed of perfect peace, and

in a civilised country, to carry deadly WO accident

with which might cost their own live and those of other Demons,
and which might be used with a dreadful fa rrible results

when a simple quarrel arose. It seemed to him expedient tlul
people should be liable to a summary conviction or a fine for carrying
about pistols, for it was not to be tolerated that people should go
about with these deadly and dangerous weapons." An expression of
opinion like this from such a quarter might well, were those in
authority less hard to move, lead to immediate action. One of the
highest signs of civilisation is to be found in the general custom of
walking about unarmed. Wl«n each man assuming to be a gentle-
man carried a sword, blood was shed and murder committed on
the slightest provocation. Our streets and taverns were rilled in the
(by-time with ruffians and bullies, and in the night the Mohocks,

" flown whh iniolence aim) wiar,"

rendered all progress dangerous, if not impossible. With changing
limes came milder customs, until a man who carried a pistol or a
sword in quiet thoroughfares would have been regarded as a madman.
Then followed the discovery of the gold-fields, and a portion of out
]>eoplc who sought their fortunes there lapsed into something like bar-
barism. It is from California and Australia that th rjnying
firearms has been introduced. An instant and a rigorous ap:
of laws already in existence would, I think, get rid of the nuisance
If otherwise, laws more stringent, and more capable of being carried
out, should at once be framed.

EVERY century, since the renascence of letters brougl.'
the study of Plato, has seen one or more sketches
communities. Sometimes, as in the History ol nd

ires of the Sun and Moon by Cyrano de Bcrgci rid

of the Moujhnhnms by Swift, the aim of the author has tx

Table Talk.

759

satirical ; sometimes, as in the Arcadia of Sir Philip Sidney, imagi-
native and poetical; and sometimes, as in the Oceana of James
Harrington and the Utopia of Sir Thomas More, serious and
instructive. So strong attraction have dreams of this kind had for
students, that there are few men, probably, of literary tastes with whom
one or another of the books named has not been a favourite. It is
but natural that the dream of an age like this should be scientific.
One or two attempts have accordingly been made to go in advance
of discovery, and show us the benefits science has in reserve. S.ilm-
land, as Dr. Richardson calls the imaginary country he depicts in his
presidential address delivered before the Croydon Sanitary Congress,
is a scientific Utopia, with a slight resemblance, in one or two
respects at least, to Arcadia. In basis it is inoppugnable. If men
would found a colony such as Dr. Richardson describes, and follow
out the rules of conduct he supplies, the span of human life might be
very largely extended, it we might not even find a hundred years its
normal limit. According to analogy supplied by other animals, the
full age of man ought to be one hundred years. To reap the whole
bcnc6t of such possibilities it is necessary, however, to get rid of
much of the wear and tear of existence, and to avoid all temptations
to excess. The conditions of actual life Dr. Richardson does not
(ace, doubting obviously the possibility under existing circumstances
of greatly enlarging its duration. In a community, however, free
from outside disturbance, in which sanitary and social tan are duly
oljserved, such a result, he holds, is to be hoped. I dispute it not.
At any rate, the lessons taught are worthy of study, since, to use
a familiar illustration, " He who aims at the sun, though he hits not
his mark, yet will he shoot higher than he who aims at a tree." It is
worth while to draw Dr. Richardson's attention to the f.u t that his
scheme has been in part anticipated by an eminent member of his
own craft. Rabelais did not see so far forward as his successor with
regard to the possible prolongation of life. He drew, however, three
and a half centuries ago, in his description of the Abbey of Thelemc,
a picture of existence under such conditions as would have con-
tributed to extend its duration, not only by the maintenance of
decent, orderly, and beautiful lives, by those with whom he peopled
his ideal institution, but by the banishment from their company of
those whose moral or physical defects might be transmitted to a
future generation.

T is satisfactory to find that Dr. Richardson's scheme of living,
which excludes all forms of alcoholic drinks, is here carried to

r6o

The Gentleman's Magazine.

.uatc issia at The inhabitants of

his ideal commonwealth discover b that man ■

neither herbivorous nor carnivorous, but frngivorous. Animal food
is accordingly dismissed, fruits grow greatly in dc it bread-

tree competes with wheal, the banana is taken into favour, t
of fruit almost entirely sujwrsede water as a beverage, and milk ahioc
of purely animal substances, with its products butter and cheese,
retains full sway. Surely eggs ought be permitted as food, ever
Salutland. Gra|>es are also a favourite source of supply with this
ideal COd which of course will be too wise ever to incur the

visitation of the phylloxera.

HE notion expressed by Milton in his famous lines on Shake-

spcare, commencing,

Wli.ii hi-' .c»pc»rc for hit boaotircd lione*

The IalK>tir of »n »#■ HHtT

and implied by Horace in the equally famous ode,

Y.xcgi munnmentiim xre peranum,

that it ike to confound the literary man with the soldi,

the statesman by erecting to him a statue in a public place, is re

ii-rmany, anil has found an advocate at the n
of German authors at Dresden, v,e in England have
i. and the great gilded monument which
attracts and bewilders the foreigner is not, as most people la»
Sfaaketp ecepting this view so far as our :

ned, I would still have in one of our museums the busts of
those in whom Englishmen of future generations will B
I know one distinguished Comtist who has a private Walhalla t«f tin-
kind. So interesting is this, that one may judge from it ham
would be a complete collection. stcr bust o( I

pcare, Milton, Goethe, or Voltaire is not wholh
even as a commentary.

\fttttm~J, *. Ca. rrimtm. Krw*frn;

..I.llll'/lj

3 6105 126 935 829

DATE DUE

STANFORD UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES
STANFORD, CALIFORNIA 94305-6004

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